The Outcomes of Strife
by hippiechick2112
Summary: The end of the war is near. The last months of the 4077th overwhelm Captain Jeanie Morrison, who watches everything fall apart and then come back together for her in the postwar years. The third and last story in the series "This Forsaken War".
1. Journal Writing?

**The Outcomes of Strife**

**Note and Disclaimer: I don't own the character of M*A*S*H, but the character of Captain Jeanie Morrison – the main character of these stories – belongs to me, so if you want to use her, please message me with permission first. This is the third, and last, story of her tour in Korea and into some of the postwar years. Enjoy!**

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_Journal of Jeanette K. Morrison  
__Captain, U.S. Army, M*A*S*H 4077th  
__September 1, 1952_

_I don't know how much hope I had in my heart until today._

_At the beginning of this damned war, I was happy to be in a new place, but, at the same time, lonely because people were rude as hell to me. Then, I listened to reports of a war being over by Christmas and wished that I was assigned elsewhere – despite my security risk – and not home in Bloomington, Illinois, with my dysfunctional family. Then, December passed and the winter turned into spring. I fell in love, experienced rape and had a child. My child, my little baby girl, was sent to the States and my heart turned cold. Finally, when I thought things could not get worse, Henry Blake…my father-figure, my commanding officer…was discharged and, over the Sea of Japan, was shot down and killed._

_It made my heart turned to total stone, taking too much time to thaw for new friends and even love. In order not to feel anything – to get through another O.R. session without breaking down, to function in a place far away from what I wanted to be home – I had to make myself steel against anything. I isolated myself. I watched my mind crawl into a corner, beating away every helping hand, and nearly went crazy with grief. I walked, joked, breathed, slept and ate. I drank, collapsed, tumbled and even puked. And yet, here I am, still here…alive._

_God, and here I am, over two years in Korea, still broken down and beaten. I have done everything that my country has asked of me. I enlisted in their military to forget about the troubles I had at home. I traveled to where they wanted me to and have given up my life to serve them, even spying for them in a dangerous half of a country, divided when the last war before this was over._

_Two years ago, they sent me to Korea, to work as a nurse and not as their post world-war spy in a divided Berlin. I was trained too well in the art of war and they had figured, hey, send a nurse, who used to be a spy, to work at her original profession. It's some idea, is it not? It made sense. I mean, I made no trouble and nobody knew my traveling name except if I made a mistake and was tortured as a prisoner. But, that was not possible, seeing how mobile this unit can be. So far, so good, Jeanie Morrison is not a prisoner of war and resides at the 4077th M*A*S*H._

_Jesus, now that I have seen the countryside here and know war for what it truly is, I am disgusted. I have seen too much and have experienced it all. And I am tired of it. I don't want to be a spy anymore. I don't want to be a nurse anymore. I want to be me, Jeanie Morrison, a person who wants to be a mother to her daughter. I want to be the civilian I was promised to be and to raise my daughter. I miss her so much and only wish to see how much she's grown. My Shannon Cora, I want to see her again, my poor child in Boston, Massachusetts with a parental unit about to break apart once more._

_It's been a long summer, I've noticed…another long year gone almost. A summer of many deaths, I saw, and it shocked me. It nearly killed me, mentally and physically, although I still continue to smile and laugh and pretend that nothing is going on._

_Dammit, too many boys have been in that operating room. Just, lately…it's been bothering me. I've been going insane._

I stopped writing in the journal, putting the pen down before I threw it across the room. I couldn't think anymore about the feelings I've had for over two years now. It was too much to see on black and white pages, empty pages of a book Hawkeye had passed onto me (an unusual gift from a nurse, I believe, when they needed help with their heater again) when he saw how much letter-writing had made me feel better. He didn't need the large, empty book and just gave it to me, still unaware of how much I still hated writing.

Hell, I wrote letters when it suited me. I write a lot of them, sometimes ten pages per person when something big had happened or I was upset. However, I didn't really need a journal to achieve the same. It just reminds me of my feelings and it doesn't make a difference whether or not it's there or not. I'm here and not in the United States and that's that. I have to deal with it.

I sat back on my cot in the Swamp, thinking. _Was this really so bad after all?_ I didn't think so, on second thought. I mean, I just wrote almost two pages of thoughts and feelings that I usually reserve for people in my letters, people who I love the most. Usually, it's been Lorraine Blake, Trapper John, my brother Dean (when he's out on the Front Lines and needs some company with my letters) and sometimes, my own mother (carefully, though), who has grown closer to me this way, despite everything done to me by her own hands. Sometimes, I'll leave something on Hawkeye's pillow when I can't see him or leave some report for Colonel Potter when something is bothering me and I can't see him right away.

Journal writing, though? For me? Hawkeye can't be serious! Dean would laugh, though, if he was here, knowing himself to be the writer and not I.

Oh, yes, Dean's been sent back to Munsan, where Daddy now is. My father is back on the Front Lines as a General, asking for the 43rd. Well, he also asked for Colonel Coner, back from Seoul, answering for the large numbers of dead men in his unit. Coner and Dean compete a lot for that command post and it scares me everyday I think about it. Coner has power that Dean doesn't, although Daddy is there to watch and comment about things, like how they should wait for the fire to cease before getting the dead bodies. One more time that Colonel Coner does a stupid stunt like that and he's going to be court marshaled. It _so_ tingles my body and makes me happy to think about it!

"Hey, Jeanie, are you in there?"

I heard the voice of B.J. outside of the tent, the newly-crowned prankster of the 4077th. After pulling a prank on everybody in the camp, by _himself_ even, Hawkeye and I gave up our titles and handed them to him…until we get back at him for it. There was _much_ we are planning!

"Yeah, I'm here, B.J.," I called back as I put the journal under my cot for safe-keeping (from every person in the camp but the rats). "What's going on?"

"I passed by Margaret's tent and she asked me to ask you to come to her tent, snapping like a Venus Flytrap. She's a bit peeved, so be careful of that dragon."

I sighed and got up, putting my socks, shoes and jacket on. Jesus, Margaret had been calling me to her tent a lot lately. Other than teaching me how to take care of the nurses when she's gone, she talks about her husband, Colonel Donald Penobscott, and how much she loves and hates him. Usually, when she's in a good mood, she's in love. When she's in a bad mood, Donald has done something stupid. And Margaret likes to talk to me because I'm a good listener, I guess, and it makes me her feel like somebody believes her and is listening to her.

So, she's in a bad mood at the moment. Jesus…

I sighed. _Let's see what Donald did _this_ time…_

"Sure, I'll be careful. I never know when she'll snap at me, too."

I walked out the door, meeting the tall surgeon near the sign posts, showing miles to go before we headed home…or even Tokyo, where we vacationed usually if Seoul wasn't an immediate open opinion.

B.J. and I were as silent as church mice (rats, here, I should say) as he escorted me to the Head Nurse's tent a little ways down the road from the Swamp. I didn't think he wanted to say anything that would cause his head to be rolled off of his shoulders from the woman herself, the angry power woman behind the nurses of the 4077th M*A*S*H. I kept the same way, knowing that to talk about Margaret near her tent was courting disaster.

"Good luck," was all B.J. said as we stopped in front of Margaret's tent.

"Yeah, I'll need it," I replied as I knocked, watching B.J. run and then disappear into Post-Op.


	2. The Strong One

"Oh, there you are!"

Margaret practically dragged me in as soon as she opened the door to her tent (she didn't look as angry as B.J. said that she was, but then again, the King of Pranks had a way of exaggerating things). She did look a_ little_ angry, but it wasn't like she was throwing a temper tantrum or tearing offices apart or anything like that, which was what I expected initially.

"What's up, Margaret?" I asked as the Major dragged me in, not knowing what to expect about Donald…or anything else, for that matter. "What do you need me for? It sounds important if you're asking B.J. to bring me here."

Margaret and Donald had been married for two months and already, there were pregnancy scares and infidelity, I think on both parts. I know that Donald was being the cheating bastard with his little darling named Darlene. However, when Margaret and Hawkeye went to the 8063rd two weeks ago and were lost for a few days and under enemy fire, I think the two became lovers, just because of how close they seemed after coming back. I also noticed this especially when Hawkeye came back to the Swamp. He wasn't the same and couldn't look at me in the face for a while, not even when we worked…until a few days ago. I tried asking him what was wrong, but I was pushed aside every time, seeing in his eyes that he betrayed me.

And, for some reason, I was not angry or jealous. I should have been. I had every right to stomp into the Major's tent and tear her little blonde head off. I had every right to scream and fight with Hawkeye about it and throw his mother's wedding ring back at him. However, I think his guilt over cheating on me and his want to help Margaret overcame it, which melted my heart. I forgave them both, of course, but silently. We three never said a word about it and still haven't.

_Would it help to?_ I don't think so. If I confront it, trouble comes in three forms. And we don't need more trouble than what we already have, right?

Hawkeye and I are still only trying to make up in the Supply Room or near the mine fields when he was ready to talk to me again, having picnics and talks and wishing we were home…just like always. It was like, after his hours of solitude, he would come back to me and try to make things normal. They went back to such, in a way. I wasn't hurt and only handled it one way and that one way of handling the hurt – the only feeling I really had for about a day – was to get drunk silly and have my brother drag me, once more, out of Rosie's when Colonel Potter was looking for me, wondering why I was missing and drunk on my day off.

"Just, get in here," Margaret replied, yanking me away from my thoughts and feelings about this last "betrayal", if the camp keeps insisting on calling it that (mostly the nurses, told to me by Kellye). "I wanted to talk to you about something important that I forgot to."

"Margaret, you've practically talked to me about everything you could about the nurses. I think I got the point. I've handled them very well when you were away every time. What else could you possibly have to say to me, other than command not suiting me so well?"

"Just…sit down!"

Margaret pointed to her cot with such great energy and anger whipping out of her fingertip. So, when I obeyed within an instant, she sat down next to me and suddenly broke down into noisy tears. Her initial anger seemed to have disappeared from the last time B.J. saw her. She might have had a temper tantrum earlier, but wore herself down with it, holding out her tears until I came in.

"What's wrong, Major?" I asked, suddenly feeling like the adult, feeling like the mother of a troubled child. "What's wrong? Shh, Margaret, what's wrong?"

All I heard from the muffling words and enlarging tears were the words "That lousy little cheating bastard – San Francisco – trying to work out our marriage – in a place like this – only friend I have!"

With hesitation on my part (was it because she was with Hawkeye and I was really jealous and angry on the inside?), I embraced Margaret, who continued to sob and sob. I petted her hair, shushing her, trying to get her to calm down. I knew who she was talking about and could make out the situation at hand with only those few comprehensible words.

Margaret and Donald, for a month now (after the pregnancy scare), had been fighting long distance and, for once, after a lull in their own fighting, _she_ wanted to make up and try to repair the extremely short marriage, but it didn't work because he ran off to San Francisco with his darling Darlene. The two had been engaged for a few months (Margaret claimed, in-between sobs as I tried to shush her, that they had a relationship and that she was cheating on old Ferret Face, Frank Burns, and he didn't know better), married two months ago and are now contemplating divorce.

It took a while for Margaret to calm down, some minutes even (I focused all of my attentions on her like she was my daughter, my little baby girl missing from me), but when she did, all she would say to me was, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

I tried not to let the irritation out in my voice – irritation at being interrupted and even bothered again about her marriage – and tried to be gentle with her. The woman was obviously a little more than devastated over the man that was supposed to be there for her, in thick and thin, for better or for worse. She was obviously taking her marriage vows seriously and was stuck: should she or should she not divorce Donald?

_Shouldn't Father Mulcahy help her, since he married her and Donald?_ I didn't know. I didn't feel qualified to be her counselor, but felt a little pride and honored that she asked me for help, even though I couldn't give her anything but my own selfish thoughts and reassurances that she'll be ok.

_Is this how marriage _really_ is? Am I going to have to go through this Hawkeye when the time comes? Am I going to be going for the first woman that calls herself a friend to me and cry on her shoulders too, saying how sorry I was? Is that what women go through? Is it even enough?_

"For _everything_," Margaret sobbed as an answer to my question, looking worse than ever before (her make-up was running down her face, her hair looked limp and her normally sharp eyes were as dull as a cloudy day). "I am your _friend_, Jeanie, and I did horrible things to you. Now, I'm asking you to be there for me, when I hurt _you_."

"Don't worry about it, Margaret," I replied, feeling like she was reading my thoughts about her previous encounters with Hawkeye. "I drank, I hurt for a day and I move on. What do you have to worry about? Don't bother with me about it. It's not a big deal now." I waved my hand in indifference.

Margaret shook her head, finally letting me go (but also clawing my arms a little, making them bleed a little). "I should be the strong one," she said. "I fight. I pushed my way to where I am right now. I usually know what I want and decide quickly. Now, I don't know. I love Donald and he loves me, but he doesn't seem to love me anymore."

"In your heart, what do you think you should do then?"

I thought I heard choppers overhead when I asked her that question, but I couldn't be sure. I didn't have Radar's sense of things, but I was pretty sure that we were going to have wounded soon and it might be more than I expected.

"Divorce him." Margaret's voice was so soft that I almost couldn't hear her words.

"Are you sure?" I asked, almost unaware of stomping feet going past the tent, only seeing that Margaret was the only person that should matter at the moment.

"I don't know. All I ever wanted was a happy ending to my life and didn't want to be a lonely, single woman and –" The sobs began again, interrupting her words, hands covering the shame of treason: tears of anguish, anger bubbling up and a sense of treachery about.

I embraced Margaret again as the announcement came up for more wounded in the compound, coming in from bus, jeep, ambulance and even chopper (translation: the war was still on and we were back on the job). I knew, then and there, that we were going to have yet another long session in the O.R., perhaps lasting a couple of days. I didn't know. However, I was only glad that we were stocked with blood, since the whole camp (and some of the Greek, Danish and French soldiers that came by) donated blood since we were so low and the Red Cross passed on next to nothing in recent history.

"Come on, Margaret, we have to go."

The both of us still sat on the bunk transfixed on our personal lives, knocks coming and going on the door, and were still locked into each others' arms. People kept calling out for us and that we needed to move, since the Front Lines were being unloaded and men were coming to us, all in thanks to the Chinese and North Koreans…and our government, if I must say.

Suddenly, Margaret got up, breaking her arms from me, and wiped her face and eyes, becoming the strong, tough Margaret Houlihan that everybody knew (and would not admit to love, but to hate).

"Come on, Captain, we have wounded in the compound!" she exclaimed finally, running out of her tent door, leaving me alone in her tent, wondering for a moment about her sudden change in character: from vulnerable and wanting a helping hand to strong and wanting to show the world that she was as tough as a man.

I then got up, running out the door: the rhyme and reason of time running too slowly as routine took over my mind, another turn in the cycle. It had been over two years since I was assigned to this hellhole from West Germany and yet…yet, it seemed the same. One phase of my life was exchanged for another. I was supposed to stay here until the end of the war and we saw no end in sight. And there I was, looking at yet more children being destroyed in this crusade.

_Was there to be an end or will the countries fight until the bitter end of human time? Am I to stay here forever and love Hawkeye from afar or will he stay with me, no matter what?_

As I ran up to the bus, a clipboard in hand (given to me by Klinger, who told me Colonel Potter assigned me to sort out the critically wounded, the ones who could wait and the unfortunate that died) and Radar behind me. I took out my lipstick tube, used the night before against Hawkeye in a playful time, and opened the cap, dropping the semi-gooey cap into my pocket. Then, twisting the bottom and watching the bright red come up, I used it as a pen on my clipboard. checking and marking each person. I marked each man on their dirtied hands (or foreheads, if wounds were on their hands and arms), letting everybody know which would go first and last and who was dead. I even thanked whoever was up there that I had no dead soldiers on the bus.

"Captain, we need you to scrub up!" Colonel Potter's voice was heard outside the dirty windows as he ran to Pre-Op. "Your little delicate fingers are a specialty around here!"

"I'm coming as fast as I can, Sir!" I yelled back, telling Radar what to do and who was first in line to the O.R. and called for Klinger and Father Mulcahy to come and lend a hand. I then handed my clipboard to the company clerk and was about to run off the back of the bus when I saw a figure lean over a wounded man. He was a doctor, that much was obvious, and his white lab coat and uniform matched this unit perfectly. However, he was familiar and seemed to have belonged here…from ages ago.

The man then turned around and smiled at me as I froze in horror and surprise, looking like the first day I saw him here at the 4077th, smiling and telling me that he'll talk to me when his paperwork was finished, when he had the time to answer my questions after helping Lorraine with the bills and eating her odd baking concoctions. His old fishing hat was even on, the hooks and feathers perfectly aligned and without a ruffle to them, without an indication that he had been shot over the Sea of Japan the year before.

"Come on, Jeanie," the figure – ghost, perhaps – of Henry Blake said me, only me, who seemed to hear him. "There are wounded in the compound."

Then, he paused, looking at me as the blood drained from my face. "What, Jeanie? It looks like you've seen a ghost."


	3. Ghosts

"Clamp, Kellye," I said quietly as I stood, hours later (perhaps days later), and played doctor once more in the O.R. In-between working on a soldier (and having Hawkeye occasionally looking over my shoulder and either complimenting or correcting my work, although the former wasn't so bad as I was getting better at "meatball surgery"). I even saw Henry's figure still, clad in his uniform and white Post-Op coat, pacing back and forth the space allowed to him, his hands behind his back and watching us. He wasn't even dressed for the O.R. and only paced where his living feet had touched last, where Radar was when it was announced that he had enough points to go home to Lorraine, Janie, Molly and Andrew.

"Clamp, Jeanie," was Kellye's reply. Then, in a whisper almost: "Do you see what I see, Jeanie? Right over there?"

She pointed quickly (before Margaret could see) to where Henry was pacing and then went back to concentrating on the work as I glanced quickly at Henry and then back to what I was doing. When I had the chance to see where the former C.O. was in his quest to put a hole in the O.R. floor, he was gone. He disappeared as if he had not been there…as if he had not existed at all.

It frightened me as I asked for the next instrument from Kellye, shaking as Hawkeye came back up behind me, complimenting my work again. It also made me jump a mile out of my white outfit. I screamed something fierce at him and argued with him about sneaking up on like that (Hawkeye joking all the way), but was stopped soon enough.

"What seems to be the problem, Captains?" Colonel Potter asked as Hawkeye apologized profusely for his intrusion, only saying that he wanted to check on me before going to his next patient, if there was more wounded in Pre-Op.

"Just strange things going on, Sir," I replied quickly…_too _quickly for the Colonel's tastes. I then amended my words. "There are strange happenings in this camp, Sir, and too many ghosts haunt it everyday. Don't you see it, too?"

"That's rubbish, child's play!" Charles called from his table. "Ghost stories and other 'strange happenings' are nonexistent, Captain. There is no such thing."

"Oh, I don't know, Major," Margaret chimed in. "Halloween is just around the corner and spooky things have happened then usually."

"And all year-round, boys and girls," B.J. added.

"Well, I have a story," I announced, picking out shrapnel from the soldier's chest as I talked. "My mother was – is – a suicidal person and has seen many ghosts. She was the kind of person who would watch the wallpaper from her bedroom walls peel by themselves and then push themselves back on the wall after every time she had a child. She was a little loony and quite depressed." I paused, dropping metal scraps to one side. "Anyhow, there was one day she went to the lake in the middle of nowhere, Illinois. I didn't even know she went and neither did my brother or stepfather. I was about fourteen, maybe, when she did this."

"Get to the point, Captain, lest I fall asleep on my patient," Charles complained bitterly at me, snapping off his gloves, asking for another set and seeing to another patient.

"If you shut up, I'll get there." I twisted my fingers (Hawkeye behind me, helping me pull more shrapnel up from the body) and talked. "My mother had enough of life and, of course, went to the lake in the middle of nowhere and tried to drown herself. She attached a rope to her feet and tied a heavy rock on the other end. When she was finished, she would throw it into the deep water. The pier was built to almost the middle of the body of water, so when she jumped in, she would drown. Well…"

I paused again, the heat of the patient's body warming up my cold fingers. "She was about to throw the rock in and was all tied up. She walked to the edge of the pier and closed her eyes, only to hear a voice, telling her to stop. It was her uncle, her mother's dead twin brother talking to her, an uncle she adored until he died. She grieved deeply when he died."

"Oh, really now?" Charles didn't look impressed. "Considering what I've heard about your mother, she can be demented, delusional and even utterly dim-witted. I cannot understand what could be going on her extremely slow mind. Would it be a patch of lies?"

"I don't think so, Major, but I thought so until I looked into her eyes and saw some truth." I shook my own head. "So, let me finish my story."

I closed my eyes, seeing my mother as I did when I was fourteen and worried about where she was – a little more than wet, the ropes still around her ankles and her eyes looking haunted – and it gave me the strength to continue, as if her spiritual figure was right next to me, telling me to go on.

"Well, my mother's uncle, her own mother's dead twin brother, came to her and said not to kill herself because there was more to life than being dead. My mother turned around and saw him, as good as the day before he died, and listened to his words. He said not to worry if she went home, that her children will be fine. However, he told her that she would lose one of her children in a war and the others will settle down to a good life afterward. He didn't say which ones, but it made my mother curious, since she wanted to know, no matter the grief it would give her."

"What else?" Klinger had come in, putting sponges in the bowls, and stood near the door where my table was, wondering the next part of the story. He was transfixed upon it.

"My mother is one of those people who would like to say, 'I knew it first and I told you so' when she could, so she didn't jump in to commit suicide but swam back to shore, since the police were patrolling the area and she didn't want to be arrested or seen. So, when she heard his final words as she swam – that she would die before the family curse of the male twins dying without issue had been broken in the generation after her – she almost flipped and committed suicide, after all. But, the words made her stop and think. Her favorite uncle had told her not to die and to live to see her children grow up and die."

"Ha! As if that would be true," Charles finally said. "Captain, you have a flare for words and stories that I am amazed that you didn't make that up and wrote it as a fictitious story."

"It doesn't sound too far-fetched," Colonel Potter chimed in. "Mildred had the same problems when somebody died. She always seemed to see the dead person, telling her that they were dead…"

Colonel Potter continued upon a story about his wife who seemed to have psychic abilities, especially when he was hurt or close to death. I remembered it well once, that scene in my mind where the whole O.R. had to pretend that we were in the Officers' Club so that she didn't worry about her husband.

I then listened inanely, as I usually did to the O.R. chatter, but Hawkeye was right behind me as I worked (as always), watching me carefully as I took over the surgery myself after his help and finished up. After Klinger was over his shock about my story and ran out to check on the patients with Radar, I heard him announcing that, after forty-nine hours, there was one more patient in Pre-Op, who came from a jeep minutes before, and that all he had was a leg wound, nothing serious. Hawkeye was free, so he volunteered to take the soldier.

"I guess you're seeing what we're all seeing, Jeanie," Hawkeye said in a low voice as Radar told Hawkeye that the medic who came with the wounded soldier started to prep him before bringing him into the O.R. "You're not the only one seeing ghosts in the camp."

"Do you think everybody sees him?" I asked him as Kellye was relieved from duty and I was asked to play nurse again by Margaret…thankfully.

"If they did, we would have heard more people saying something," Hawkeye muttered back as the wounded soldier was brought in and we both were newly-gloved and ready to work. "People who were here when Henry was probably see him, not Potter or B.J. or Charles or anybody who came after him. Kellye was here when Henry was, as was Margaret, Frank, Calvin, Trapper, Radar, Klinger, Father Mulcahy and Nurses Johnson, Baker and Flemming. The nurse turnout was higher when Henry was discharged."

"I know, but everybody is here in Korea now except for Trapper playing doctor in Boston, Frank in a V.A. hospital in Indiana and Calvin in that place in the afterlife, if there any."

"Colonel Potter, there is news from the Front!" Radar came back into the O.R. again, a paper in his hands. "I-Corp says that there's the – ummm…"

"Let me see it, kid. I'll help you." Klinger took the paper from Radar, pronouncing words I didn't know he knew. "Sir, there's largest all-Navy raid out in North Korea now. One hundred and forty-four planes from three ships destroyed the oil refinery at Aoji, North Korea."

"Where's that?" Colonel Potter asked.

"Aoji…I don't know, Sir," Klinger replied, his heels clicking behind him as he walked away, handing the paper back to Radar, who scratched his head and tried to pronounce the town himself as he walked off. "It's in North Korea somewhere."

"Obviously," Charles muttered, finishing up his last patient.

"Scalpel, Jeanie," Hawkeye requested as the patient was put down and the words of the other people in the room were drowned out in my mind. "We can talk about Henry later."

We would, of course, but it didn't make me stop thinking about my mother's story and what her uncle had said to her, a spirit form that changed her. Of course, I lied a little in the story (not a big deal, I think) and said one of her children would die and the others live a happy-ever-after life. I mentioned all of my brothers in the story and not just me and Dean, although my great-uncle told my mother only about us twins and how one would die in a war and the other would be happy living in old age. My brothers, sons of my mother – save for Dean – are in the Netherlands with their wives and children, happily together for once in their lives.

Well, this was war and either one of us could die. It meant that it had to be me or Dean.


	4. The Enemy is Coming!

"I saw him, too, Jeanie. I just saw him pacing the O.R. like he was worried about something or that something was going wrong. What did you see him do? Did he talk to you?"

Hawkeye and I were out in the mine fields (on the other side, a good twenty minutes to walk), edging too closely to the deathly beauty of war, and picnicking. Dean had recently sent me a package of wine and cheese (Daddy had obtained some from Headquarters Seoul and passed to my brother, who sent it to me) and I wanted some time with the person who was supposed to be my fiancé. Hawkeye seemed to be the same after the episode with Margaret (this after days of not being able to talk to him) and agreed to the date readily when the package came and I asked to share it with him, hungry for some action after the hurt. However, words failed to come to us as we sat there on the blanket, glasses full of the best wine there was (aged twenty years and Charles was jealous we weren't sharing) and cheese sliced into pieces. We had some small talk, like about how our family members were doing, and then Hawkeye perked up my interest by mentioning Henry, which is something he doesn't do often.

"I…I saw him at the back of the bus," I admitted, sipping from my glass and savoring the taste of _real_, aged wine. "He spoke to me, saying that there was wounded in the compound. And he then he went, 'What, Jeanie? It looks like you've seen a ghost' or something like that. He then kinda disappeared and next I saw him was in the O.R., like he belonged there or something and he didn't bother to talk to me afterward but pace, going through all the men that passed him. But you're right, Hawkeye. Henry Blake was there with us. And he was worried about something happening."

"Why would he come back to us, though?" Hawkeye mused. "Henry can't haunt. He doesn't know how to or is too modest to even try."

I blinked back tears quickly as I put my glass down on a flat rock next to me and sat up, aching to be in Hawkeye's arms.

"He doesn't even know how to spy properly and is clumsy about it when he tried." I sniffled a little. "I don't know, Hawkeye. Whatever he came here for, he came with a purpose. There has to be _some_ reason that Henry Blake is back here at the 4077th all of a sudden and that only the people who knew him could see him. Colonel Potter asked me about it during my shift earlier and I explained it to him. He just shook his head, as if he didn't _want_ to believe me, but felt like he had to, like an obligation or something."

"What about the wounded man he was attending? You said that Henry was watching over some wounded soldier and making sure that he was comfortable." Hawkeye saw my need quickly, just like before, and pulled me to him, cuddling as he put his own glass down, empty. Then, he took mine and drank it down, which I didn't mind nor cared about.

"Sergeant Daves doesn't remember anything but Henry patting his arm." I wrinkled my forehead as I was remembering that I interrogated the poor man about Henry being over him and B.J. had to pull me away reluctantly. "Then again, Daves was close to death and could have seen him _because_ of it." I paused. "I don't know, Hawkeye. I think of my mother and how she saw ghosts of her past, present and possible future. I don't believe in much of anything, but I knew that she was telling the truth somehow. And she's a lying, manipulative woman who uses religion as an excuse for everything."

"My Dad used to see Mom or Loretta when something went wrong," Hawkeye mentioned quietly. "If something was wrong in the family, he would see Mom walk down the main stairwell and go to the kitchen to make breakfast, as if she wasn't dead. Then, she would 'disappear'. Loretta had been seen playing by the laurel bush, calling out for me to play."

I shuddered in Hawkeye's arms. Talk of his family, dead or alive, made him touchy, so I didn't know what to say.

"Something is bound to happen," Hawkeye continued, regardless.

"We don't know that," I protested.

I felt a finger go to my lips, as if to shush me. Then, Hawkeye leaned forward to kiss me and then he got closer and closer, as if to dispel everything from my mind –

_Honk! Honk! Honk!_

A jeep came up around the mine field and parked right in front of me and my date, blinding me and Hawkeye with headlights as we tried to have a private moment. Whoever it was behind the wheel of the vehicle, honking the horn, I was going to kill, no matter _who_ it is. Hawkeye and I asked for privacy and we expected it, even _when_ we were shading our eyes to the offender. Who wanted to disturb us at such a _time_?

"Who's the Peeping Tom who keeps interrupting my dates?" Hawkeye yelled out, inquiring the same thing that I was in my mind…which was already imaging which person it was (oh, God, yes, I knew _who_ it was) and killing said person three or four times with my bare hands.

"That's my sister you have in your hands, Hawkeye, so you'd better be careful of what you say and do. At this point, I could strangle you with my _own_ hands, but I'll leave that up to Jeanie. However, the next time I see her drinking because of you, she won't be able to stop me."

Dammit, it _was_ Dean (I was right, after all). He left the jeep on, but hopped out of the driver's seat, a gun in his hands and a helmet on…with two extra in his other hand.

"Older brother, what is the meaning of this?" I nearly screeched like a Banshee as he put his gun away. "We're fine. We're making up. We're talking. And I only drank because I was upset over more things than I tell you in person and letters. You didn't _need_ to come looking for me."

"I _did_ need to look for you two _Captains_, on the orders of Colonel Potter," Dean replied, looking severely at me, lording over as my older sibling and warning me, all on one face, that he was serious and his words carried worth to them. "Enemy troopers have been spotted in the area and the Colonel has called off all leaves and entertainments. I just came back here quickly to make sure that this unit is secure and ready to go mobile, if necessary. Then, the 43rd will be moving out again. We only came back to make sure that the 4077th was still standing."

"It's not like Rome was collapsed in a day, Dean," Hawkeye said to all of the military nonsense that I never heard from my brother before. "Nor was it built in a day. It didn't even take long for it to burn to the ground as many played with their fiddles."

"Hawkeye, shush," I finally said to his craziness, getting up and gathering our now-empty glasses and such and putting them back in the bag I had them in before. "Now, Dean, enemies are in the area. Are the helmets necessary?"

"Yes, little sister, because more wounded are coming in and the Front Lines are shifting once more. They're moving to the south, so we have to buggy if things happen." Dean came up to me and stopped my motions of cleaning up, putting his dirty hands on my face as he dropped the helmets. "Jeanie, this is serious. Colonel Potter needs you both back soon. Radar has reported that the 8063rd is swamped, quite literally, and is sending some of their wounded over here."

Dean then kissed my forehead, as if it were the last time I was going to see him. "Be careful, little sister. Come into the jeep with me. You need to be scrubbed up and ready to play your part."

Dean then picked up the helmets from the ground and tossed one to Hawkeye. The other he put on my own head. "Come on, Jeanie, Hawkeye…we have to go now. You guys need to be back and I need to get moving with my men and Colonel Coner, who will not be pleased if I am late."

"Coming then, Mother," Hawkeye replied jokingly as he picked up the things I dropped and jumped into the back seats of the jeep, me and my brother behind him.

Dean put the jeep in reverse and then into gear and drove crazily around the mine fields before dropping us off before the Colonel's office outside with a small crowd gathering and waiting for the wounded to come (Margaret was one of them, giving me a severe look). Then, I saw my brother waving a few men over so that they could get in and get to their destination: the Front Lines.

This one motion alone made me scared shitless. I was really scared. For some reason, I was scared and a deep chill set into me.

Before Dean could drive off again (he was about to shift into the first gear), I ran to his side of the jeep and tugged his uniform, asking, "Dean, have you seen him? Have you seen Henry around here?"

Dean knew what I meant instantly, thank God. He only replied, as he started to drive off with three more men in the jeep with him (and brushing my hand away, as if I were an insect, of little worth), "Yes, Jeanie. He came to me and only told me to be careful because he knew that my time in the summer was yet to come. I couldn't believe my own eyes and ears."

And with that, my brother was gone. He was gone. And I just stood there, listening to the announcement coming to all in the camp, "Attention, attention all personnel: your night dates and Supply Room meetings have now been cancelled. We have incoming wounded! All shifts are to report immediately. We're in for yet another long one, folks!"


	5. Growing Friendships and Forgiveness

_October 2, 1952  
The Swamp…Still in Korea!_

_Well, Journal, this is the third time I've written (after a brief note about seeing Henry's ghost and what conspired afterward) and, I must say, the rats have been kind to you and already, the fleas like to nest in your pages. I don't like writing – still! – but this is as good as it's going to get. I guess, with the lack of companionship right now in the Swamp (B.J. is in Post-Op, Charles is having dinner with Margaret and Hawkeye is in the O.R. with a patient and Nurse Carpenter), that I need somebody to talk to as the creatures of night work and play. Well, writing here, but still, it's a balm to the sore that has been growing for over a year now._

_First off, September twenty-first was my daughter's first birthday, her very first, and I wasn't there. She's all the way in Boston, Massachusetts and her Mommy is here in Korea with her Daddy…if it really is Hawkeye, which I think so with every letter and picture I get from Trapper and his wife._

_Trapper, by the way, is the surgeon that was here in the Swamp before B.J. came around, and he was a married womanizer when here in Korea. But he was a good man, a brother to me like my own flesh and blood out in the fields of Korea. And he was discharged after the C.O. before Colonel Potter – Henry Blake, my old neighbor back in Bloomington, my own father figure and friend to us all around – was, luckily getting over the Sea of Japan perfectly and sent home to Boston, Massachusetts._

_My daughter was first sent to my mother and stepfather briefly, but before Christmas of 1951, she was packaged up and sent to Trapper and his wife, Louise, and daughters, Becky and Kathy. Now, Louise thought that the child was a "bastard" (her word, not mine) of mine and Trapper's. This proved to be wrong quickly. My baby has my grey, grey eyes, a small nose and a silly smile. However, her Daddy (Hawkeye) passed down his sense of humor, keen mind and hair color. Trapper has curly light brown hair and blue eyes, if I remember correctly, with the same sense of humor Hawkeye has. Oh, hell, I have not seen Trapper for almost a year now and black and white pictures cannot help me now._

_Louise saw that Shannon was not Trapper's child quickly and, thankfully, has not bothered me about the baby, since I send money every month. At the beginning, she was so bad and badgered me to get the baby out of her house and to send more money if she was staying. As time went on, though, Mrs. McIntyre warmed up to Shannon and has considered her one of her own, despite trying to get a divorce from Trapper and raise her other two girls at the same time. They are still together for the time being, thankfully. I hope their marriage lasts because if it doesn't, then Shannon has nowhere to go because she isn't considered their flesh and blood and they're not the legal guardians really unless I sign something and say they can do this and that, which is a lot of the time, thanks to the Army. They send me paperwork to sign all the time and I send it back quickly, trying to get things done as soon as possible. And I can only do so much._

_And then there's Hawkeye. If he's the father, like we're all believing (even him, I think), then his own Dad in Crabapple Cove, Maine has custody of Shannon until the war's end, so I can hope that the couple stay together and keep quiet (but not wish her on Hawkeye's Dad, who suffers so much already!). But I don't know because Hawkeye has been so quiet about Shannon. Only B.J. and Colonel Potter would ask me about her (sometimes Margaret, when she's isn't depressed about her failing marriage and lack of children of her own), but Hawkeye will ignore me when I receive letters from Trapper, unless they are _for_ him, and walk away._

_That is a sore spot of our relationship: not being able to talk it out. He won't ask about my daughter (our daughter?) and walks away when I want to talk about her. It hurts…_

_The other sore spot of our relationship has, thankfully, been resolved as I work on the first one without success. I finally talked to both Margaret and Hawkeye in the privacy of Margaret's tent and they explained everything to me about their time together and fessed up to their misdeeds on their way to the 8063rd back in August. They both said that they meant no harm to me and that it was only under enemy fire. However, the two are the greatest of friends nowadays._

_It doesn't bother me because they _are_ great together. And, if Hawkeye wanted to get serious with Margaret if our relationship didn't work, I would let him go. I love him enough to let him go and I learned it the hard way when I drink to get the hurt out of me._

_After confessing his deed, Hawkeye looked hurt and shaken (about ready to cry, but he kept it all back), as if I would leave him (and the Swamp, for that matter) when he told me the honest truth. He looked frightened that I was truly going to leave him forever for some stupid mistake under the most horrendous of situations._

_Instead, I embraced him, saying, "I knew it already, Hawkeye, and I wanted to hear you say it. And I've already forgiven you and Margaret a long time ago. It's my brother Dean you now have to impress."_

_Margaret got into the embrace warmly (I allowed her in) as Hawkeye moved his arms and closed his grip on us._

"_My two favorite girls in this whole camp," he said softly, enjoying the moment of forgiveness and friendship…of love and mending it…of passion and regaining it slowly and carefully._

"_I swear, I didn't mean to harm you either, Jeanie," Margaret added, muffled by Hawkeye's jacket._

"_I know, Margaret," I answered, also muffled by the same, treacherous jacket._

_Then, Hawkeye broke us up and took my right hand and Margaret's and put them together, as if he was fixing our growing friendship. My hand felt cold, but Margaret's was sweaty, as if she were nervous…nervous that I was truly not forgiving her for cheating on her and was going to end our friendship. So, I looked into her eyes and saw the tension in them…and knew that she needed a friend in me, a woman who she would talk and look to when she needed the help and support, especially in the trials in her marriage with Donald Penobscott and the stumbles in her friendship with Hawkeye Pierce._

How symbolic this all is…

_Then, I said directly to Margaret, "Don't even say you're sorry anymore, Margaret, because I know, down to the depths of your soul, how much you both are, especially you. This won't interfere with our friendship and I most certainly won't tell your husband about it. We are still friends."_

"_Soon to be _ex -husband_," Margaret replied proudly._

"_If that's your decision, then go for it." I cleared my throat audibly. "You've changed a lot since the days when we all first arrived here, Major. It's always been for the better, too. And I'm so grateful and happy to have a friend such as you."_

_And that was that. Margaret is now going through her divorce papers (despite Father Mulcahy trying to get into her marriage affairs, with little effect, and retreated, knowing that Donald was doomed) and trying to get Donald to sign them, but he still isn't answering her, being in San Francisco with his darling Darlene and all. It didn't surprise me, especially when yesterday's mail brought his answer to Margaret. She, of course, was FURIOUS with his initial answer about the divorce and, naturally, called me to her tent, sending a scared Radar to fetch me as I was reading a brief note from my brother._

"_At this point, Captain, you could be Major Houlihan's personal therapist, the way she is going about her affairs of the heart," Charles commented when Radar ran off, hearing Margaret scream again from across from compound, as did we all._

"_Just because I'm her friend doesn't mean anything," I replied to the insufferable Major Ego as I got up and put my jacket and boots on. "Major, have you been aware that Major Houlihan has not been good at making friends?"_

"_And you play well for someone who still doesn't play well with others," Hawkeye interjected as he was reading a letter from his Dad._

"_I try my best to improve from the last school quarter," I answered quickly before the other bunkmate, B.J. – engrossed in another letter from his wife, Peg – could add something to the conversation._

"_Can you believe this?" Margaret screamed as soon as I knocked and entered…at my own risk._

"_I think I can believe it from across the compound," I muttered._

"_He won't consent to the divorce!" Margaret continued, as if she didn't hear me. "He says he's too busy to sign anything and that he can't be bothered with it right now! He says he's –"_

_Then, the anger became sobs and Margaret, standing before her cot, started to collapse to the floor._

_I ran to Margaret and caught her before she hit her head against something or landed on the floor hard and hurt herself badly (which we didn't need). I eased her down, sitting on the floor with her, as she sobbed in my arms again, the letter from Donald crumbled on the floor._

"_I don't think I can handle this," Margaret cried._

"_Yes, you can," I soothed, petting her hair and trying to think of something more to say, but I couldn't. I wasn't good at doing things like that, seeing as how my only friend was Dean for the longest time, and could not think of anything else to utter to comfort Margret._

"_He's such an ass," was the reply._

"_I know, Margaret…"_

_I didn't finish my sentence, comforting the Head Nurse and still thinking about things. _Could I play Mommy to her? Was she my practice – albeit an adult – for my own child when I get back to her and she grew up? _I didn't know, but the best I could have done was be there for my friend and make sure she didn't kill the camp with her anger._

_So, I guess you can say that I'm becoming a better friend to Margaret, Journal. I stayed with her, making sure things were going to be ok with her (until nightfall, quiet as it's been), even helping her compose a letter to Colonel Donald Penobscott and laughed as she invited me to spend the night with her instead of in the Swamp. A spare cot was available, of course, making it all-too-real that we were acting like two girls, aged eleven years old. It got so silly that even I was enjoying myself immensely, much more so than Margaret, I think._

"_Don't you get tired of the men in there?" she asked me, laughing and crying at the same time as we sat on her cot, before I ran back to the Swamp to get my clothes. "I mean, all they do is fart and wipe their nose with their sleeves –"_

"_And they never clean up after themselves and read those dirty magazines and even PICK their noses," I giggled back, laughing, too, as the girlish sounds became adult again._

"_They never will grow up, will they?" Margaret shook her head – the laughter gone – and took out two glasses from her table as she got up, pouring alcohol from a flask. Then, she sat back down at the cot and handed me one glass, toasting us, adding, "And to my friend, Jeanie Morrison, who has warned me about this marriage and has been the greatest of friends."_

"_And to everything else held so near and dear to us," I added after her, _clinking_ the glass with her and drinking: long, hard and wishing for more._

_Margaret got up and got the flask, pouring more into the glasses as she sat back down again. "Here's to your engagement with Hawkeye," she said. "Let's hope it lasts and is a better marriage."_

"_And to you, as well," I grinned. "Let's hope your divorce comes through and you are rid of Donald Penobscott forever so a better person can take his place."_

"_You think so?" Margaret asked._

_When I nodded vigorously, she hugged me, alcohol from her glass spilling all over us._

_We drank for a long time, well into the night, and slept the uneasy sleep of nurses in a war zone. I had a shift at about oh-six hundred hours, so I had made Margaret promise to wake me up, an old alarm clock ringing in her ears so that she could get up and make sure that I got to Post-Op safely._

_Margaret kept her promise and even more, bringing me lunch when I could not get out of Post-Op for it in time. I mean, I could have lived without it (it was "Chef's Surprise" again), but I really appreciated the kind gesture. After Margaret left, I took the tray from the desk, found the nearest garbage can (outside of Post-Op) and dumped the offending mush into it._

_It's getting on late now and I must fly, as I have a meeting in Seoul in the morning with the head of the C.I.A., General Water Bedell Smith, who is in Korea right now checking on things. So, before I close this, Journal, and let the rats read it, let me stick my brother's little note into there, as if to reassure me of his situation, of where he is right now. I can worry all I want, but I cannot change it. And this, I must accept._

Dearest Little Sister, Jeanie…

I don't know what day it is, so I apologize if this messes up the order of things in your pile of letters from me. I am in Munsan right now and our father's 68th Regiment has been sitting here with me, the 43rd being thrown into pieces by Colonel Coner. Please forgive me, Jeanie, but I write in distress and I will write about it quickly. My unit is being destroyed one by one, my life is flashing before my very own eyes. I cannot help but think of Henry Blake, who came to me again today. He came to me again as I ate in my foxhole alone and asked me if I had ever seen a ghost before and left, making me wonder what is going to happen to me.

I will come back to the 4077th as soon as I can, Jeanie, but the fighting is not stopping and I cannot help but hope for death. I think things are conspiring against me and I have to stop to think and watch where I step. I will tell you more when I come back to see you since I know that my letters are being read and not sent to you if they are offensive to some people. So, wait, Little Sister, and I will see you soon. As our mother would say…pray for me. And I need them, Little Agnostic Sister of mine. I need anything to help me stay alive now.

With Love, Dean

* * *

**I would like to thank Suzy Kalter, author of The Official Book of M*A*S*H (Abradale Press, 1988), for the information in her book and for some ideas and the actor/actress interviews and episode summaries. Going onto Season 8 almost, so keep reading and reviewing, please!**


	6. Vacation in Seoul

I sighed deeply, thinking about the day's events and those yet to come. Sitting in the same room that held my last trial, my last meeting in Seoul with General Clayton over a year ago, I awaited for the final decision of General Smith, who sat across from me with his two aides. Seated at the same table as him, and waiting patiently and silently for him to finish up reading and signing our final deal – the final paperwork – I smiled, thinking of how much I outwitted Colonel Flagg by going to the top and being over his head. Even sitting there in my kangaroo suit (as Hawkeye would call it) made it all worth it.

Hawkeye was even outside (on a two-day vacation with me in Seoul, on orders of Colonel Potter, to make life simpler, after pleading and begging and explaining that our last vacation was Tokyo last April), waiting for me in the parking area with the jeep. I was giddy with excitement.

The last signature of General Smith's was signed on all copies after a minute or two and, in turn, he looked up at me and smiled. "Well, Captain, the final contract is here. I know you've read it over already, but I'll outline it for you for official purposes, as you well know."

The General then picked up the documents as I nodded in agreement, reading out loud to me the main points so that the aide to his right could write it all down for official documentation. I almost shivered with anticipation as the words became clear and the impact of it came to light. I knew the consequences, so all I had to do was behave myself and become that civilian once more when the war ends. Simple enough, isn't it?

"On this day, October 3, 1952, in Seoul, the capital of the Republic of Korea, an agreement had been drawn up between the Head of the Central Intelligence Agency, General Walter Bedell Smith, and the Assistant Head Nurse of the 4077th M*A*S*H, Captain Jeanette Karen Morrison."

The General paused, as if it was for a dramatic effect, and then continued. "The agreement is as follows: Captain Morrison is to stay in Korea until the end of the war, in which she is to be released and discharged from her services and responsibilities to the United States Army and to the Central Intelligence Agency. Afterward, she is freed to be a civilian of the United States and will no longer be serving as a security risk to said country. However, she no longer has the right to her privacy if she forfeits these especial favors bestowed upon the Central Intelligence Agency, of which she was a part of, and the President of the United States, Harry S. Truman."

"Further," he continued, after taking a long breath, "Captain Morrison, in serving with the United States Army for several years, has been given a great disservice to her by her country and its military and other operative services. Through her own personal mistakes, she was misled to believe that she was to be discharged on these matters and was given no place of safe haven, having been, with great hazards, delivered of a daughter in a war zone."

General Smith looked up from the document. "Through these mistakes on the part of the United States Army and the Central Intelligence Agency, Captain Morrison will be pensioned five hundred United States dollars every month, for the rest of her life, for compensation of this error, starting this month."

The General continued as my mouth seemed to have dropped (this part I didn't know about). "Also, an extra one hundred of the same currency will be sent to the home in which her daughter, Shannon Cora Morrison, is staying in, in payment of being born in a foreign country. She is also granted United State citizenship, not granted to this daughter born in this country during a war. Her custody, in the meantime, will still be in the hands of Colonel Samuel Flagg, who will investigate as to who the biological father of the child is, since it is known that the former Captain John Francis Xavier McIntyre is not the father of the child. Any letters and pictures pertaining to this child will be within Colonel Flagg's jurisdiction until such a time. His final decision will, furthermore, be given in a meeting here in Seoul, the capital of the Republic of Korea, on January 15, 1953."

General Smith finished and stood up, his aide finishing up his writing and the other taking the document from his hands. "Captain, those are the terms. Do you agree with them?"

I stood up, not believing my ears on anything still, especially the last part about Colonel Flagg. So, I just saluted – surprised, keeping my mouth shut and feeling a little more than annoyed that Colonel Flagg was still in the picture again – and replied, "I do agree, Sir."

"Then it is settled. Captain, all you need to do is sign beneath my signature on the copies and you can leave. A copy for your records will be presented to you by my aide and another will be sent to the 4077th M*A*S*H for their records for you."

I saw the General's kind face and smiled, knowing that he was kind and generous enough to settle this matter by coming all the way to Korea. I was lucky enough that I had enough channels left and was able to contact him about my problem before Flagg became a bigger issue.

"Oh, thank _you_, Sir, for doing this for me," I said, coming around the table and excusing myself as I slipped around the General and signed my name on the dotted line on the official copy, my own copy the aide gave to me and the copy that is going in my records at the 4077th. I then shook hands with the General as one aide finished his writing and smiled at me while the other handed me the copies for my records in a nice briefcase, still saying how much I appreciated the effort.

"It's not a problem, Captain," General Smith replied, smiling and dismissing me by his last sentences. "Just have a good time here and forget your troubles for a little while. The door is over there and I believe your ride is waiting for you impatiently."

"Yes, Sir," I exclaimed, smiling and saluting once more and taking my copies of the precious documentation.

I turned around on my heels and went out the door, walking down the hallway as the precious papers in the briefcase hummed at me with hope, some faith fluttering in my heart. Yes, this was the beginning of my freedom. All I had to handle was Colonel Flagg placing my daughter in another home until I came back to the United States after the war. And, if I could manipulate the final deal, then I can possibly have her stay in Boston until I get back. I didn't want to impose on any other person in caring for my daughter.

_Yes, yes, that's the way to go. Shannon will be safer with Trapper and Louise. And if Colonel Flagg will take my daughter away from me and put her in Crabapple Cove, Maine, I will be pissed. However convenient that will be, especially when Hawkeye and I go "home", it's not fair to his Dad. It never is. And I prefer to pick her up, let her have some time to prepare to go, and then have her reacquaint herself with me again, although our link couldn't be broken._

_Or could it? I taught her, in a week, that an invisible cord existed between her and me. I put my finger to her chest and had her finger touch my chest when I handed her off, tears running down my face. Could she possibly remember it?_

"How did it go, Love?" Hawkeye asked me, waiting outside at the door for me as I cut off my miserable thoughts. He saw me smiling, so he figured that it was good.

"Well," I started as we started to walk to our jeep, "basically, I have an extra five hundred dollars a month added to my paycheck of five hundred for the 'great disservice' the Army did to me and my daughter. Also, an extra hundred is going to Boston along with U.S. citizenship to Shannon. However, Flagg has control of my daughter and may as well toss her into a garbage can the way he is going to handle her custody battle."

I stopped with Hawkeye before our jeep and let out a sigh that said it all. "I can leave Korea when the armistice is signed, pretty much, and go home, but if I start acting like the enemy, then they'll start spying on me again. It's the usual stuff."

Hawkeye, ever the gentleman (ha, ha), give me a lift so that I could hop into the jeep and sit comfortably in the passenger seat. I even sat like the lovely lady that I was supposed to be.

"That's…generous of them," he finally replied after a minute of silence. I could tell that he didn't want to talk about Shannon by the way he said his words: cautiously and slowly, like there was a hidden meaning behind the hallow, flowing words of encouragement.

"Isn't it?" I asked. Then, without a thought in my brain: "Hawkeye, I know this will make you uncomfortable, but we need to talk about Shannon. We need to. I've been beating around the bush for over a year now and you've been avoiding me. We need to sit down and talk about it and the possibilities we'll have when we return home." I paused when Hawkeye gave me a clueless face. "Oh, Love, you know…home? Home is supposed to be Crabapple Cove, Maine, remember? You and I discussed _that_, remember? We're going there together after I get to gather up my marbles in Bloomington, Illinois."

"Oh, how inconsiderate of me to forget it," Hawkeye replied playfully…sarcastically. Then, in serious tone, he added, "Of course I remember, Jeanie! I can't forget, my Love."

When we heard a few shots in the distance (a sniper at Headquarters Seoul!), I jumped right into the driver seat (the briefcase went underneath the passenger seat) and Hawkeye ducked into the passenger, putting on a helmet over the kangaroo suit as I did (Colonel Potter ordered them in the jeep, since reports came to him about snipers). Then, a minute later, a soldier jumped into the back seat of the jeep as I started it up quickly, saying to us, "You can forget about your Love, Hawkeye, if we stay here like idiots. Hit the gas pedal, Jeanie!"

"Dean, you son of a –" Hawkeye started as I sped off (a shot hitting the spare tire of the jeep in the back), my skills with driving a jeep lacking, as I was used to driving a smaller manual vehicle. However, I managed to navigate it correctly and even successfully passed civilians walking (honking the horn had helped a little in getting them out of the way) and M.P.'s running to catch the sniper, who was somewhere in the bushes surrounding Headquarters and its important members.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing here?" I yelled through the biting, cold wind, not bothering to slow down. I didn't even turn around to see him, only catching a glimpse of him when he jumped into the jeep with his shoulder bag: dirty, forlorn and even tired.

"I have a few days in Seoul and came to bother my _favorite_ couple because they were in the area as well," my brother answered sarcastically, holding onto his helmet as more shots were heard behind us. "Dammit, Hawkeye, next time, don't let Jeanie drive. Clarence taught her to drive manual and she hasn't been able to drive anything else since!"

"I'll remember it when she hits something!" Hawkeye held onto his seat as we started to get into the more city-like district of Seoul. I only hit a few potholes behind on the road, but actually did well in the jeep, so I saw no reason for their sarcastic comments on my driving!

Then, seeing the city lights and the civilians running amok as I sped and honked the horn of the jeep, I started to slow down, my heart beating faster and faster. We soon neared the hotel on the other side of the city. However, nobody's helmets came off, even in the safety of the city, and the feeling of being cautious was still there. The sniper could well as be an army of North Koreans or Chinese, coming to overrun the capital once more. I mean, the truce talks have stopped yet again. Could it be that the war is starting anew, another overrun of South Korea?

"Have reservations at the hotel, Dean?" I asked nervously as I parked the jeep at the hotel a few minutes later…minutes full of silence, unsaid thoughts and even images of death and destruction.

There was no answer, but we all moved simultaneously to get to the hotel doors. After getting out, we three took out our baggage, letting the hotel worker take the jeep to a safer location so that we get access it later…like, when we need to leave in a hurry.

"I do now," Dean finally replied to me, picking up his shoulder bag and swinging it around. "I guess I'll also be hitchhiking a ride back to the 4077th too, since my vacation ends when yours does and I need to be back at the unit."

"Oh, goody, a reunion," Hawkeye muttered out loud, laughing. "This'll be fun."


	7. Disturbing the Game

"Did I say that your stretch marks have almost disappeared?"

Hawkeye and I were naked upon the bed of the hotel later that evening, privacy at last. A locked door and closed and blinded windows characterized our first day together, almost forty-five hours to go, thankfully. We were alone…so alone…and it felt _so_ right, like the first night we had together in the Swamp, talking, laughing and drinking. How innocent I was then…and how little I knew then…

"Oh, really?" My head perked up, as did my eyebrow as I looked at my Love. Hawkeye's fingers even gently tickled my midsection, running along the small red and purple sags, marks and bumps that were slowly disappearing, but reminded me of Shannon. "You're too kind, Hawkeye. I think they never will…neither will the breasts, the ass –"

Hawkeye rolled his eyes. "It's clearing up, Jeanie. But, you know what else?"

"What?" I sat up a little and leaned forward to meet his kiss, wishing for more…like earlier. I was too hungry, too eager, and yet…we were alone! We had forty-eight hours in Seoul and it seemed like we had all the time in the world to be happy and alone.

"You look prettier that way. You're still petite, but the weight looks beautiful."

The words were so soft it made me wonder if Hawkeye had said anything at all, but he did. I took in the compliment by another kissing him again, practically jumping on him suddenly, until, until…

_Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock!_

"Jeanie, Hawkeye, I know you're in there. Get dressed and open the door."

"Quick, it's my wife. She always knows where I am." Hawkeye's hair almost covered his eyes, those shiny blue eyes that I had to forgive giving me an amused picture in them.

"Nice male voice," I complimented as we heard another knock on the door.

"Jeanie, get dressed. We need to talk." _Dammit, it's Dean._ "I've got an extremely urgent report from Colonel Potter, so get your clothes on so that I can talk with you and Hawkeye."

I sighed, remembering that an older brother can know everything and yet, tell the world of his younger sister's intentions and actions. It embarrassed me still.

"I'm moving, Dean!" I called back, getting up with Hawkeye and putting on my clothes quickly (the only thing within reach was a nightgown, but it worked nonetheless). Within a minute, the two of us were ready. I went to open the door for Dean, who came in with a paper in his hands.

My older brother – cleaned up and looking stern in his lean Army fatigues – came in, sighing. "Jeanie, why can't you wait until evening?"

"It was Hawkeye's fault. He made me do it." I pouted and pointed to Hawkeye, who gave Dean an innocent face.

"Me? Would these lips kiss and tell?" Hawkeye, too, pouted.

"Ok, ok, children, I believe you now. But we have things to discuss." Immediately, Dean went to business, so Hawkeye and I sat back down on the bed, covering our misdeeds with the sheets and our bodies' heat. Dean, in the meantime, ignores this and takes a chair from the other side of the room and stated what Colonel Potter sent to us via a paper message, starting with (some sarcastic amusement in his voice), "Ok, you two, I know you're going to kill the messenger for this, but I have to say that you two have to be back at the 4077th tomorrow by twenty-two hundred hours, preferably way before that time, like in the morning or early afternoon."

"What? Why?" I was the first to be outraged by the sudden change in plans and how I can't be on vacation, the second I've had since being at the 4077th. It didn't seem so fair!

"First off, little sister, they have now been reports of the enemy coming to Seoul. And the North Koreans and Chinese coming into the South Korean capital will cause chaos. Chaos will mean that there will be wounded soldiers and civilians, something that will bother your unit. Not to mention, Jeanie, you both might be trapped here. Colonel Potter is only thinking of the best for his unit, yourselves and the wounded. You can't blame him for cutting your vacation off."

"Colonel Potter has always had us and our interests at heart," I mused carefully. "He isn't Henry and we know this." I nodded. "I understand, Dean."

"Is the jeep at least not in pieces and at the Black Market yet?" Hawkeye asked. "Oh, and by the way, thank you for the privacy. Rain check!"

"Cha-_ching_!" I added, changing my mood a little.

"Oh, will you two stop being so immature?" Dean asked, trying so hard not to laugh. Then, his laughter came out finally, his face registering disbelief at our antics and silliness still.

"Oh, will you stop being so serious and tell me what's up?" I then asked him in return, changing the topic and suddenly remembering the disturbing note that he mailed to me recently.

Dean's face darkened. "Little sister, I know we're alone here, but I have to be cautious of what I am saying before telling you anything else, even if we are alone."

"That must I can tell." I was silent, thinking of what dangers my own brother can go through and then thought, immediately, of the only person, the only person in a place of position, who craves the power, glory and prestige of the 43rd Infantry Regiment Unit.

Hawkeye even caught on quickly. "Can you prove this, Dean?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, so much like Groucho Marx even with his thinner brows.

"Hawkeye, other than feelings and seeing him behind me all the damned time with his gun pointed at my back, I can't exactly prove my accusation." My brother sighed. "I think he might have heard of the family curse and wants to help it along a little. And there isn't anybody else in that unit I can trust, either, with this information and suspicion. Beckett is gone now. There are new men everywhere and all they want to do is to follow Coner, but even some of them are showing some change of color. I can't trust that in men, though. A change of heart if a fickle one and it's dangerous."

Hawkeye and I looked at each other, understanding perfectly and not saying the one name that could have my brother killed sooner, if not later: Colonel Coner.

"Dean, you need to watch yourself," I cautioned softly, Hawkeye nodding.

"Don't you think I don't know that, Jeanie?" Dean yelled, getting up and throwing his message from Colonel Potter into the air. "I've been telling you the same thing and now, look where you are! You may have settled business with your daughter, but you know that her travels, as well as the war, are not over just yet. And you know that's you or me: one dead and the other alive at the end of the war. I don't know which war, but who cares? We're all going to die anyway because of this damned curse."

I was aghast. I _never_ heard my brother speak such cynical words before. It was as if the family curse was really bothering him and that the Grim Reaper was sending Coner as his instrument to make sure my brother died accordingly, all in part of the plan. After all, Dean was sent into war twice, thinking that the first time was a breeze, without a single thought to the family curse as he raced through Nazi Germany, bringing himself back as a war hero with his own unit to command in the next war. In Korea, in command of so many men with somebody over his head, he is of a different mindset and sees shades, shadows and darkness where we know might be hiding and even lurking…stalking him.

I took a deep breath. "Come on, Dean, you can't be always worrying about some stupid curse and thinking that it'll be your destiny to die in a war."

"Oh, yeah? Then, how do you explain the deaths in the family?" Dean's eyes narrowed.

"There isn't any tangible evidence other than coincidence and Mom's demented words." I crossed my arms in stubbornness, only to have Hawkeye break up our fight.

"Excuse me, but I would like to have some happy time here before going sane in an insane place," he interjected, putting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Jeanie, we have to get packing again and drive to the train station. Driver, thank you for informing us of this unfortunate news. You will be tipped at the door."

Dean only smiled and went back to his normal stance and behavior, leaving behind him a scene of lunacy and possible mad suspicion that he's held for many years now. "Thanks, you two. I'll be knocking on this door at eleven hundred hours sharp, so be ready to go by then or I'll come in and start packing your things, whether you are ready and dressed or not and naked."

"How reassuring," I commented sarcastically.

"Colonel Potter's message is pretty urgent and he was being lenient with the both of you," Dean reminded me and Hawkeye. "I suggest that we please him and head out early…as early as we could." He looked severely at us. "_I_ am being pretty nice by letting this go on until eleven in the morning, you two, so don't let me down and be late. Besides, there might be something more to his message than we think there is, something in-between the lines. But, whatever is going on, it looks like the Colonel wants to bug out and not leave you two in the empty camp without a clue as to where they went."

"I thought you guys were supposed to help us _not_ be so mobile," I pointed out.

"Exactly the point," Dean replied, turning around to the door and leaving. "Have a good night, you two. I'll be down at the bar downstairs if you need me."

The door _clicked_ behind Dean finally, leaving me and Hawkeye back into our mischief. Even though it was only eighteen hundred hours, we still had until the next morning to play and have the privacy we would never have back at the 4077th, especially in the Swamp. We both knew this and stared at each other, unsure of what to do next. I don't think even Hawkeye knew what other antics we could come up with, more action that we try out. I was clueless myself!

"So, where did we leave off?" I asked huskily, getting up from the bed and slipping off my thin nightgown slowly, amusing myself as Hawkeye watched me closely, his blue eyes eying my body from my graying brunette hair to my tiny, cold toes. I then climbed into the bed, pulling his clothes off in swift movements.

"I don't know," Hawkeye replied, his voice muffled, for just a moment, as I pulled up his shirt and started for his shorts. "But I'm liking this game already."


	8. And the War Dances Onward

_November 3, 1952  
The Newly-Built Post-Op, Somewhere in Korea_

_So, Journal, we've bugged out for the second time in a month, more and more wounded coming in by the loads (I'm sitting here in the new Post-Op, writing, waiting Charles check on the patients with B.J.). We're in a village several miles from where we're been originally stationed and I can't remember the name of the village for the life of me, only seeing more mountains around us, a beautiful lake of some sort and grassland where we've made our chopper pad. But, we're safer here as the battles rage outside to the north and personal tragedies within the camp bother us to the core of beings. I think I can start with the battles and the war news so that I can ponder more upon the personal changes in the camp and how we are all saddened by events._

_Obviously, the battles are still on. Bunk beds built here in Post-Op can attest that fact. First off, Seoul was attacked a few times (Hawkeye and I got out of there with Dean in time, leaving at ten hundred hours as shots were heard over by Headquarters still). Then, in the middle of all of that, our forces go after the enemy supply units! It's up at the Front, of course, but still, we're in the rear and we feel every battle, sometimes hearing it in the distance far away, even here._

_Not to mention, Operation SHOWDOWN is still on (started by General Clark as soon as the peace talks stopped again) and the Battle of Hill 598 (also called Sniper Ridge) is underway. The 7th Infantry Division battled the Chinese near Kumhwa, which is part of something called the "Iron Triangle" (wherever the hell that is, not even Klinger knew!). Later, I messaged my good, old friend, Greg Keller, and asked him. A message came back within the hour, explaining that the Iron Triangle happens to be THE central key Communist (as in Chinese and North Korean!) concentration area on the Front Lines. It also served as their communications junction. It's located in the central sector between Chorwon and Kumhwa in South Korea and Pyongyang in North Korea._

_Also underway was the Battle of White Horse Hill, which lasted from the beginning of October until the fifteenth of the same month (thankfully). The R.O.K.'s 9__th__ Division inflicted ten _thousand_ casualties on the Chinese while attacking back their assaults (according to the reports sent to Colonel Potter). The South Korean Army was helped largely by reliable information from many Chinese deserters (now, prisoners of war), who came in and told them of the attacks coming if they didn't act first._

_Afterward, there was no rest and even we didn't get any sleep from the wounded from all sides of the war (I can thank whoever is up there that Frank Burns is gone and not complaining about the wounded enemy soldiers, but Charles is, as always, insufferable as ever before). About a week ago, there was another battle, called the Battle of the Hook. Again, don't look at me, I don't name the battles! There are many strange ones in this war._

_In the Battle of the Hook, the reports say that the 1st Battalion of the Black Watch (their words, not mine) and Commonwealth Division tanks and reinforcements fought off the Chinese. This battle last for two days (October twenty-sixth to the twenty-eighth) and gave us a shitload more of wounded to care for. Sessions lasted on and off in the O.R. (with an hour or two in-between each session, messing up the shift schedules for the first time ever) until today. More are expected…blood, wounded, time in the O.R., everything._

_However, there is another battle going on, even as I write here: the battle for Hill 851 in the Heartbreak Ridge area (I have to ask where that is). It's now being held by the 2nd Battalion and 160th Infantry Regiment (also known as the 40th Infantry Division) last we heard. Klinger came in with the news a few minutes ago, so you can imagine the craziness that will shine in the camps' eyes when they hear of more wounded and more orders to build more bunk beds around Post-Op and in the nearly-erected tents._

_I mentioned Klinger a lot in this entry and I will explain why right now, something I had thought about while I wrote about the war news. This is the personal tragedy of the camp, the main cause of everybody's misery (although most are happy for the person): Radar has been discharged. That's right. Our little company clerk, who has been looking up to everyone and wishing to be just like us, the one who was eavesdropping in the office, telling us when the wounded is coming before it happens, who helped Hawkeye, Trapper, B.J. and I with so many schemes…he is now gone. His Uncle Ed had passed away, leaving his mother all alone and without anybody home to help her with the farm. Colonel Potter, with his heart of gold, discharged the little bugger as problems plagued the camp and Klinger started his job training._

_It was strange, though. Just a week and a half before, they all had a party, a party stateside. All of our relatives back home had a party, at the suggestion of B.J. and had a blast, as we've heard in letters. Radar's Uncle Ed was there. He was alive then, dancing with his mother and having a good time, proving to me, once again, how a person can be alive one moment and dead the next. Jesus, even my mother went, drinking in a corner with Mrs. Houlihan (out of prison, I heard, and not stealing anymore), moaning of her losses and how her daughter and son are lucky to work with people such as those at the 4077__th__, despite their loose morals and such. Even _they_ discussed death and how they wished their children to be safe…safe one moment and then gone the next…_

_I barely had time to say goodbye to the little guy because we had wounded. I only had time to hug Radar tightly and wish him well, hoping that he reached home safely so that no death could reach Mrs. O'Reilly again. And it happened: Radar was home, safe again. I was glad. I really was. But, he symbolized something: becoming a man from a boy. Radar is a man now. Leaving behind his teddy bear on Hawkeye's cot, we realized that, in two years' time, Radar had grown up so much in so little time in a war he had no place in. He's now twenty years old and has everything in front of him. He was eighteen in the time of Henry Blake and the war's stupid, awful beginnings, learning of death firsthand when Henry was killed over the Sea of Japan. He was nineteen when the gentleness of Colonel Potter came to him, a mere year ago. Now, at twenty, Radar has learned of death once more, learning that even the best-loved figures of the camp had to leave sometime, learning to deal with the cards given to them._

_However, the departure of Radar was not the best and people scorned Klinger, who rose to the position and has now made the job his own after so much hardship. Even Margaret, who has now received the final paperwork of her divorce finally, was hard on Klinger, as was Colonel Potter, Charles and even Hawkeye a little. But, the pain was harsher to the former "transvestite" Corporal, who now dons a uniform and uses his conning skills to get what we need for the camp…and more. He helped to rebuilt the still in the Swamp when B.J. destroyed it in a drunken rage (reading from Peg that his daughter, Erin, saw Radar at the airport and called him "Daddy" by accident, which amused Mrs. Hunnicutt) and even helped to get the lights back in the camp, sorely missed for a while. Then, after everything seemed to have settled down, we had to buggy out of town._

_And here we are now. I'm sitting in Post-Op still, listening to Mozart from Charles' turntable on the other side of the room as he works, B.J. complaining all the way. I don't think Charles really understands that most patients and medical personal here don't even LIKE classical music and that he should turn it the HELL off. I may be a heathen barbarian to him, but I know taste when I see and hear it._

_I like some things Charles does, literature and poetry even, but his classical music obsession – to cope with the war – has to stop when people are yelling at him to turn it off, especially when working in Post-Op. He needs a new hobby, to lighten up. Yes, old Chuckles can count fleas in his clothes instead of washing them! Perfect! B.J. and Hawkeye will LOVE this new hobby I made up for Charles. I bet the two will even create a ceremony for the occasion, worthy of the Swamp. Oh, I am laughing now!_

_Oh, joy, Colonel Potter is here…and he's taken the record from turntable and has broken it in front of Charles amid the cheers! This is too beautiful! I should close now. An argument is sure to come out of this and I want to be there to back Colonel Potter against this bunkmate I have to put up with. Yes, yes, yes!_


	9. Birthday News

"Dean, what do you think of all this? I mean, you've been here with us for a while now with your men and we've been in this village for almost a month now because of the enemy. When can we pack up and go home to Uijongbu? I _really _long for Rosie's Bar and even the Officers' Club. Colonel Potter hasn't ordered it back up yet and the camp is dry and hungry for drinks. Colonel Coner is yelling for more booze and refuses to touch the gin here in the Swamp. What can you make of everything?"

_Ah, precious time…thank everybody up there – as well as B.J., Hawkeye and Charles – for my brother and the times given to us to talk today, on our birthday. Today is our ancient thirtieth birthday, November twentieth._

I sipped my gin, sitting on my cot. Dean sat across from me, in a chair I made from leftover wood and nails (from a previous camp, I assumed) and painted over sloppily with red paint that B.J. gave to me (along with peanut butter and crackers, supplies sent by Peg). He, too, sipped his gin, smiling at me with glee and utter happiness. He was missing the Officers' Club and Rosie's as well and could only shout with joy when he found out that the still was up and running and that Hawkeye and B.J. made another interesting concoction, this time with some peanut butter cookies from Peg and licorice-flavored syrup. It made the batch of gin something interesting, indeed, and tasted well and fine, especially when sucking on an olive…or some chocolate.

"Well, my little sister, I can say that you all are moving in a week thereabouts, maybe even in as little as a day or two, and that Colonel Coner is sending out men to check the area out. It's almost Thanksgiving, right? We have five more days. Then, we can celebrate with some locals or something and have a good old time." Dean smiled, his dirty face shivering from the cold. "Happy birthday to us, Jeanie. Let's hope that we see the next and that, next time, it'll be peacetime and our loved ones will be with us. Cheers!"

Dean and I _clinked_ our glasses together and drank deeply. Then, we put our glasses down, the both of thinking the same thing all of a sudden: resisting the temptation to throw them in Charles' place, in memory of Frank Burns. After all, the Major was not like his predecessor, so I thought it was barely appropriate to give Charles more to sneer about. However, Dean had other ideas.

"For old times' sake?" he asked me, his grey eyes shining towards Charles' corner of the tent.

"Sure," I replied, filling our glasses for another toast. "To Major Charles Emerson Winchester, the Third: may he stay here, sniffling and complaining as usual, and come out of the 4077th alive and well."

"Cheers." Dean smiled.

We then drank again and threw the empty glasses in Charles' corner, hearing them _crash_ near his cot, splashing his red velvet pillow with glass shards, which was sure to bring his wrath upon us. It amused us, though, reminding us of times long ago, when the war seemed simpler and the funniest part of the day was making fun of Frank. However, Charles, unlike old Ferret Face, was a different challenge, indeed. In order to prank him, you had to be creative and work hard at it. Throwing our glasses in his temporary corner made us smile, thinking of how annoyed he'll be.

Silence reigned for a few minutes after the silly giggles, confidence of a different sort. Then, Dean looked at me severely. "So, little sister, I've heard about Shannon."

"Hmmm?" I raised an eyebrow, wondering what my brother had heard.

"Well," he started, "I heard that Trapper has little time left with my niece. Colonel Flagg has control of the girl's custody and will place her in the care of another individual soon enough, by the next year."

"Middle of January," I confirmed.

"Right," Dean sighed. "I know this isn't supposed to my business really, but why did they move Shannon from Mom and Clarence? I would have thought it would make sense for Shannon to be there and not bouncing from Korea and then across the country a few times."

I, too, sighed, knowing that Dean needed to know something I had kept secret since I received some news the day before. "Older brother, you know that the Army has _zero_ tolerance when it comes to sexual assault and harassment. And because there were rumors of Clarence from all sides, the Army took no chances and moved my daughter in with the McIntyre family, even though it had made no sense. However, they could not tell who the father is, so went with the next person in line: Trapper. The Zimmerman family – the family of Major Simmons – claimed my daughter for a while, but when they realized that it meant that the child would be ostracized because of her bastard status, they took no chances, especially when she started to grow up, walk and talk. Then, when the Army told them that Shannon might not be part of their family, they denied any ties with her, which I can rejoice about. They knew that by a blood test taken last week, finding out that hers does not match theirs. It matched a totally unknown person, which makes me wonder if I have to run through some files with Klinger."

"Then, do you think that Hawkeye is Shannon's father?" Dean whispered, a hush that I knew Hawkeye could not want to hear.

"I think so, older brother. And I am so scared of telling him that without arguing with him. He has to face it someday, so I guess I'll have to take it slowly, one day at a time, and find a way to tell him without setting him off."

Dean was not too impressed with what I told him, but smiled about my honesty. "When did you hear all of this?" He referred to my information, not about Hawkeye, and I knew it.

"Yesterday, actually," I admitted. "General Smith was kind enough to let out the details when I had called his office, before he left Korea. His aide personally told me everything, said it was from the General himself. But, that was all I got because the lines are being cut. Everybody is getting busy with everything, especially security, because Eisenhower is coming to Korea soon, promising to end the war."

"Good for him," Dean replied, taking two new glasses from behind him and pouring out gin for the both of us. Handing me my new glass, he added, "He's the new president now. I just hope that he does a better job than old Truman did concerning the end of the war. Did you hear what he wanted to do, especially when studying the end of the last war?"

"Other than bomb the hell out of North Korea like we did to Japan?" I asked, gulping down the still's contents. "I know, Dean. Let's just hope he ends the war, despite the fact that I disagree with his party and the politics. I mean, now we have Tricky Dick Nixon as a vice president come January!"

"I know," Dean giggled, obviously buzzed from drinking, but his forehead had wrinkled in the meantime. He was thinking deeply about something…or somebody…

"What are you thinking about?" I then asked, knowing what he was doing.

"Thinking about somebody, Jeanie, like it's any of your business anyway."

"Oh, come on, Dean! You can tell me anything." The alcohol was getting into my head, too. I tried sitting up from my cot, but almost collapsed. Instead, I straightened out and sat still, leaning forward to listen to my brother talk.

"Well…Jeanie, I met somebody. And hearing about the end of the war makes me want to be with her more and more because she's such a great person and I'm in love with her deeply. I hope that you can meet her soon or something because I love her very much and we've just been engaged."

"Are you serious?" I dropped my empty glass hard on the table next to me (it didn't break, thank God) and jumped with joy, nearly tackling my brother to the ground when I hugged him. "Congratulations, Dean! Oh, my God, who is the lucky woman?"

Dean's arms went around me, safely putting his drink to one side before I knocked that over, too. "Her name is Amy Newfield and she's a nurse at the 21st Evac Hospital, where she has been stationed since early 1951. I've known her for over a year now and she's been writing to me, just like you. She's _wonderful_, Jeanie. I met her there when I was visiting some of my men going home. Then, there she was, talking to me about them, and then we started talking about home and other things, and before I knew it, we were in the woods, picnicking and talking and having a good time when she was off of her shift and I wasn't busy."

"Would Mom approve of her?" I giggled, thinking about my brother and how, suddenly, he was brave enough to fall in love with a woman, social as he usually is. For the longest time, our mother thought that he was a homosexual because he never found a girlfriend and always hung out with me (although, I can say, he's had his nights with girls). However, with this, she can sigh with relief…we hoped.

"Of course not," Dean replied. "But, she will be nice and pretend to be what Mom wants for a while. I warned her and she agreed to play nice. And then, so our happy plans go, we'll be moving out of Bloomington and possibly living with her family in Massachusetts. She lives in Turner Falls, which is a small town in the northern part of the state, so it won't be too far from your Crabapple Cove, Maine, right?"

"Right. We'd be hours apart."

My arms remained so tight around Dean, who was in love and happily waiting for the end of the war. Amy sounded like a good person if he was dating her and then engaged quickly, keeping her a secret and finally telling me about her on our birthday. It sounded like he just wanted some good news to go around, despite everything being bombed, destroyed and killed around us. He wanted something so pure, so innocent…somebody to share with him memories, children and a home with…somebody who knew the war, just as he had.

However, I was still thinking about the family curse suddenly, which I had been thinking about since Uncle Nathan died, agnostic that I am and suspicious about such things. If Dean was able to have that happy ending, then Hawkeye would be devastated. If_ I_ was to have that happy ending…

_Is it possible that Dean could bear it? Could it be possible that he and Amy would break it this generation and be happy for the rest of their lives? Could be ever be possible that I die and Dean live, happily ever after, and be forever mourning for me, but happy in his life, his family, his love? I don't know…but I would have wanted him to be happy with his new wife, if possible. Oh, he's engaged, but it's a better timing than Margaret. Known Amy for over a year and he's just engaged…_

"Tell me you're happy for me, Jeanie. Please tell me that you are!"

I looked up at Dean and saw a silly, shiny grin on his face. It meant that he was so happy, even sillier-looking. He was in love and could not wait to tell me until our birthday, our thirtieth birthday: a decade of newness, fresh starts and possibly the end of our own unhappiness.

"You know that I am." I let go of Dean, sitting back on my cot, fingering the blankets and sheets that Hawkeye put there the day before, to pacify Margaret and Colonel Potter when they asked about my privacy all of a sudden. "I want to meet her, Dean. I seriously do. But, there's no time to visit the Evac Hospital now. We have things to do here ourselves."

"Tokyo, then?" he asked, his eyes shining again.

"With Hawkeye? Hells yes!" I laughed, taking my glass as Dean did. "Let's toast, older brother: to Amy, Hawkeye and the end of the war. Let's all go home happy, blithe and without any cares in the world except for our own. Let's toast to Calvin Spaulding, Henry Blake, Will Beckett and all others who have not made it."

"Cheers," Dean replied softly as we _clinked_ our glasses again and drank, tears in our eyes at the same time, a certain kind of sadness in the air. It was a piece of ourselves that we could not share with anybody but each other.


	10. Past, Present and Future Riddles

_November 29, 1952  
Back in Town! The Swamp, Uijongbu_

_I had a strange dream last night, Journal, and it frightened me for quite a while. I guess the ghosts of the past seem to plague me, you see, and it all came together in one dream in my mind, in different places and planes, maybe as the scenes changed. How I came up with this in my mind, I cannot say. You see, like I said, everybody – all three of them! – in this dream are dead, even the one person who had never met me and never will: Hawkeye's mother, the one that Daniel Pierce was said to have named Annabeth because her own Italian name was hard to pronounce._

_I am almost frightened to go to sleep now. It's nighttime. The crickets are saying goodbye as the weather turns colder and the frost on the ground tells us about the snow that is possibly coming soon. Hawkeye is sleeping since he's had none (Thanksgiving kept him and me busy in the Supply Room and in Post-Op), B.J. is writing to Peg and Erin and Charles in is Post-Op with Kellye. So, it is a quiet night, _too_ quiet to say anything out loud to anybody, but to scribble it down quickly._

_So…this dream I've had the night before, if I can call it that. It started out normal, like I was reliving the past. It, after all, started when I was the happiest: in West Germany. Falk was there, walking with me in the cold winter air that only Germany could give. He was holding my hand, the both of us covered in mittens, talking in his fast German about the cold weather and how much he hated the Army, as always. I responded in German, which I had been learning slowly, and laughed at my errors as Falk corrected them, talking in English about how cute I was when I talked to him in his native tongue._

_Suddenly, though, as we reached the old museum towards southern Berlin, where British and Soviet guards were butting heads, we stopped walking, as we always did when we wanted to be quiet and not fight with the military personnel. Falk then hesitated, as if something was bothering him, and he turned to me, on impulse running to the nearest alleyway, like he was hiding from somebody or _something_. However, to me, it felt like he was taking me on a wild ride, dragging me as he ran to the quiet darkness in-between the museum and the bank. It was terrific and I laughed in glee, but Falk's face was stony and silent, not even laughing with me._

_Falk eventually slowed down and I stopped laughing, knowing that he was serious and wanted to tell me something, so I waited until we stopped. However, the alleyway seemed so long, so _dark_, that I didn't know when we were going to stop until Falk found a spot, near the end, as if it was a tunnel: there was light at the end of it, but I was not allowed to go through it with him._

_I knew it. Even then, in my dreams where I thought that I was happy and with the one I loved, I knew that I wasn't dead, but a surreal person in a demented mind._

"_Jeanette, you have to understand something," Falk finally began in German, making me face him. He then stroked my face with his hand, as if committing my profile into his own dead memory, pausing and then talking once more as a rare tear went down his face. "You have to move on with your life. I am your past, what makes you who you are now, and some of the future, a distant memory when you think about me."_

"_Falk," I interjected, almost yelled because it sounded so preposterous._

"_No, no, my Little One…" Falk shushed me and petted my hair, holding me as I put my face into his neck. "You have to stay until the war in Korea is over. It's almost finished. I promise you that it's almost over. And you can live with your Love."_

"_But you are mine," I sobbed suddenly, my heart suddenly reaching out to him, protesting this goodbye._

"_Jeanette, listen to me." Falk made me look at me. "I came to you, when you dream and wish for me when Hawkeye could not be there for you, wishing that you and I are together. But, we are not because Colonel Flagg had me killed in the Soviet Union. Oh, just listen to me, please." I chocked back another sob, just for him. "You and Hawkeye are happy together. I am happy for you because _you_ are happy with him. I _want_ you to have a happy ending, you know this? So, go back. Go back to Korea. Because the war is not over yet and you have more to handle than just missing me."_

"_I love you, Falk," I choked, my eyes and nose dripping puddles on Falk's broad shoulders._

"_I love you too, my Little One, my Light." Falk let me go. "Now and forever, remember me, Little One."_

_I saw a blinding light, the same at the end of the dark alleyway and, within seconds it seemed, I was in another place, on another continent: Bloomington, Illinois. I was right next door again, standing next to Henry Blake in an Army winter coat and clothes as Lorraine was playing with the children – Janie, Molly and even Andrew – and trying to hide her tears and sorrow at the newly-snowed yard. Somehow, this made her think of Henry and how the family would be together, be _playing_ together, and it broke her heart._

_Even looking to the Lowes residence next door – where my mother was all alone – Lorraine thought about me and Dean and how we're faring in Korea, since the last letters from us were cynical and even hopeless, wishing to be home. The both of us had been utterly depressed and full of despair. Dean was paranoid that he'd be killed by his C.O. and Jeanie was tired of going impossible things in an impossible place._

_I heard Lorraine's thoughts, as well as Henry (I knew it somehow), and even tried to throw myself out of her mind, but I could not. I tried looking to my mother's over the fence, thinking of her all alone as she heard the children's laughter (memories popping up), but Henry had my attention before long. He knew that I was coming, it seemed, and would have to talk quickly before the next dead person claimed me._

"_How is it over there, Child?" he asked me, without taking his eyes off of his wonderful children._

"_Korea is as dark and bleak as ever, Sir," I replied, also following his eyes, knowing what he was asking of me._

"_Why 'Sir', Jeanie?" Henry turned to me, making me face him as well. "You've never been Regular Army before. I've always seen you sulking, drinking, working, loving and playing."_

"_You know that I can't help it, Henry."_

_I turned to the family and saw Andrew being taught to make a snowball by Molly. Soon enough, though, the child was rolling around and laughing as his older sister stomped away in complete frustration, trying to tell her mother about how dense he was being before being chided herself. Lorraine seemed to be in no mood for sibling stupidity._

_Henry only sighed. "I can only look over them, Jeanie. I can't touch them, like I would have liked to. I watch over them and make sure that these children at least have a mother with them. It's all that I can do." He looked like he wanted to cry as he continued. "I try to lie down in bed with Lorraine at night, to reassure her that I am there with her, but sometimes, I can't. She wakes up, wondering who is in the room with her, and becomes scared. Or, I'll sit in the kitchen, watching her cook, and Andrew will be crying and the next moment, when I realize that I'm up and he's calmed down, she sees that somebody got to him before I did."_

"_She knows you're with her always," I said with confidence._

"_And I'm with you, as well, Jeanie. I walk around in Korea when I can't stand looking at Lorraine and the children anymore and watch you all. I never realized how loved I was until I was gone. It hurt. It hurts worse to know the truth, though, Child. It hurts worse to see that the people who are down there, _way_ down there, don't know what's going to happen next and I do. I know what's going to happen to you and Dean and Hawkeye and Hot Lips and even Radar."_

"_But Radar is gone and home safe now!" I protested._

"_Even the little monkey grew up," Henry replied sadly. "Radar went home and is safe now, but even he has some more growing up to do before he sees an end to it."_

"_You sound so cynical, Henry. It's not like you at all."_

"_Being dead has its ups and downs, Jeanie. This is one of those things that make me sad." Henry frowned and blew out some air, a small cloud of chill coming from it. "Eternity is long thing, now I've realized. And I have to sit and wait for it before something else comes up for me."_

"_In that big fishing hole in the sky," I joked, remembering how much he loved to fish…like B.J._

"_You know what I mean." Henry then cupped my chin in his hands. "Jeanie, honey, you've got a lot ahead of you. People may have told you this already, but it's true. You have to deal with a lot of things soon."_

"_Like you've also told Dean?" I asked, uncomfortable that I was leaving Henry soon…again._

"_Yes, Child," he sighed. "I think he understands, but still hopes to keep away from the Grim Reaper."_

"_You're not saying he's going to die?" I screamed, trying to loosen Henry's grip on me._

"_I can't say, Jeanie. But everybody's time has to come someday." Henry let go of me. "You have to prepare because any day could be your last. I wish I knew that when I died."_

_I closed my eyes and shook my head as the winter wind picked up, almost unable to believe the words from Henry…Henry Blake, my former C.O., father and neighbor! But, by closing my eyes, I left Henry. I left snowy Bloomington behind me and came upon some sand and ocean. I felt and smelled it, my eyes still closed and wondering where I was and what I was doing still._

It's a dream. It has to be!_ I kept thinking it and yet…it seemed too real, _not_ surreal. _Or was it?

"_Oh, you're much more beautiful than I thought you would be. I think Daniel has been thinking too little of you and praising you less in his mind. But, he's on the right track."_

_A lightly accented voice filled my ears as I opened my eyes to the ocean. Before me was a short woman, about my height (maybe slightly shorter), with jet black hair, dark brown eyes and a light olive-skinned complexion._

_I knew, right then and there, that this woman was Hawkeye's mother, Annabeth._

"_Come, Jeanette," she said to me, holding out a hand as a seagull called behind her. "Or, do you like Jeanie better?"_

_I liked this woman instantly, this woman who radiated kindness and goodness onto me. She seemed the total opposite from my mother, in which an aura of disaster and dysfunction was sensed around her._

"_Jeanie, please," I replied, walking up to her and taking that hand, feeling everything from her sink into me: memories, old and new. Hawkeye was there, as well as someone I assumed was his father, with the blue eyes, dark hair (not quite black, but more brown) and a tall height. And then, there was that little girl playing near a large mountain laurel bush, the flowers dying in the autumn sunshine._

_Annabeth laughed as she saw my face. "Oh, you're unbelievable, aren't you? You don't believe in anything, do you?"_

_We walked hand-in-hand, my Army boots crunching the sand and my uniform getting wet with sea spray. "I believe in it when I see it," I said slowly, enjoying the beach. "Lately, I've been seeing things that I thought couldn't exist. I thought that everything was as it is and that I could not see people that are…dead."_

"_They're everywhere, especially when you see death often. You see, Jeanie, Daniel has the same problem. He saw death too much here, as well as life, in this seaside town, and knows about it. My Hawkeye is learning about it, too, in the worst way. I don't like it, but as a mother, I can do nothing for him except watch and wish that he would not go crazy."_

"_Why did you have to die like that?" I blurted out, aware of Hawkeye's pain. "You and Loretta left him and his father and never came back. He's devastated."_

"_As he should be," Annabeth replied lightly, seeing her ring on my hand and smiling about it. "But it can't be helped, Loved One."_

_She stopped suddenly, where the sea lapped on our feet in small waves, and let go of my hand, outlining my face with her gentle fingers. "It was destiny. I had to die of an epidemic that swept through Crabapple Cove, as did Loretta. Hawkeye and Daniel were spared, thankfully. They had a place in this world, to complete a work that would leave a footprint in the sand. They had a purpose where I had fulfilled mine. Loretta was a tragic loss, but had filled Hawkeye's heart with happiness for the short time she was here."_

"_What do you mean?" I asked, tired of the future and riddles of every sort._

"_Oh, everybody leaves a footprint in the sand. It's just how you did it and if it made a bigger imprint than others." Annabeth smiled, the same one that Hawkeye always had. "If my son had died, would you have been like you are in Korea right now?"_

_I shook my head._

"_Nobody and nothing would be the same. You could have died from every possible thing. You would be quite alone and have nowhere to go in your life. For all you know, you could have died as well, committing suicide like so many others."_

"_Nobody could know that," I started to protest, but a finger to my lip…such a motherly gesture from Annabeth…quieted me._

"_The dead know many things," she only replied, taking a step back. "You've realized this, I see. Many people have told you. But, you have to learn that, when one walks amongst the living, something will happen, as if they know something has to be finished. They feel a need, like their work is never done, and stay behind when others have found peace and move on to the next place."_

"_Is your work ever done?" I asked as a dark tunnel started to separate us._

"_Not until my husband is with me," was the reply before I felt a hand shaking my shoulder sharply._

_I opened my eyes again, realizing where I was: back into reality, in Korea, in the middle of the war. Charles was over me, yelling and shaking me awake. It showed because of the redness in his face and even on his head, up to where his balding hair was._

"_You insolent fool! Your shift has started twenty minutes ago and you are supposed to be with me!" Charles looked more pissed than I thought when I woke up, so I shook him away, rubbing my eyes and remembering where I was._

"_Oh, come on, Charles. Be nice and leave the sleeping to those who need it." B.J. moaned and rolled over in his cot, his moustache, recently grown, crinkled his pillow and rustled._

"_You could have woken me up an hour ago, Major, if this was _such_ a concern," I added, quickly waking up and putting my clothes on against the cold. "What time is it?"_

"_Time for you to get in Post-Op, you little rat…now!" Charles stormed away from my cot, as if the person on it were some sort of plague victim or something, and went out, going to Post-Op and making noise as he kicked and punched things, enough to wake up even the dead._

"_Can anybody keep the war down?" Hawkeye asked as he, too, rolled over in his cot._

"_What's gotten his panties in a bunch?" I asked, about to run out the door._

"_He found out who threw the martini glasses on his pillow," B.J. replied, laughing as he tried to go back to sleep._

_I wanted to laugh, too, but the dream…three dead people in there…haunted my thoughts, my mind. Three people, two who knew me well, and their messages plagued me hard. Was it real? Were they to come back to me? Is it really all true? Are hardships ahead of me? Is Dean really going to die?_

_I couldn't answer these questions. All I had to do was wake up more and work with Charles. After all, that was a priority, was it not?_

* * *

**I'm sorry this is turning out to be a little supernatural, but things in the story are going to turn pretty quickly here, I promise! I guess Jeanie is having some sort of "reality check" for a bit before things get hairy. However, most of the ghost scenes are based on the episode where a soldier dies and Klinger only sees him in his illness. I don't remember what season it was, but with so much death in a war, could doctors, nurses and orderlies see the people who have died, in their lives and in the war? Who knows? Read more and find out!**

**Thanks, of course, to SamandDianefan10 (Melinda) for her comments, reviews and encouragement. Without you, I'd be lost and giving this up! THANK YOU! As for the rest of you...please review!**


	11. Christmas, 1952

"Retractor, Jeanie," Hawkeye said. "Hold it, hold it…there. You've got it."

My hands felt tired and cramped up from the cold and the hours working, but I didn't care. I did what Hawkeye told me to do. And I didn't have to play doctor. I was the most confident nurse after Margaret, though, and could have done it. As a nurse, though, I did the job well and dealt with the gross side of the wounded human: being motherly and compassionate about washing and drying men and women alike (so weird for me, since I am not motherly), emptying out the bedpans and even playing the therapist once in a great while, writing to family, sweethearts and friends alike. However, it being Christmastime and missing out on those people we always write to, it's been a tougher season than most, especially for those, like me and Hawkeye, who have been at the 4077th for way too long.

Standing there in the O.R. on December 24, 1952, I tried warming my hands into the blood of the patient, pushing away anything in Hawkeye's way. And we had been at this for the whole month: working, snapping, stomping, cursing and even sleeping on the job. The O.R. and its patients had been a constant companion to us in the month of December. Life and death always hung in the balance. Sometimes, we had no choice but to let some of them go, despite our best efforts. One had been a young Korean orphan, a little girl no older than five. Her village had been bombed and she was one of the survivors of the blasts…soon to be part of the total number of Korean civilians – children – who lost their lives in this war. And it took only seconds to cover up the hurt…the other half of your mind…that grieves and has to move on.

Despite the tears, the frustration and the fruits of our labor, there were Korean orphans waiting outside for us. Granted, they were being entertained in the Mess Tent by some of the enlisted men who were not on duty in the O.R., but they still had to wait for Santa Claus (Colonel Potter this year and not B.J. like last year) to finish up in the O.R. Santa Claus himself was confident that he was saving more lives this Christmas season so that they could go home at last: the greatest holiday gift of all.

"So, what are you boys and girls supposed to be doing this holiday season?" Colonel Potter asked, trying to make small talk as the bickering resided and silence reigned.

"Other than being here, I see no other thing to do," B.J. answered as he threw a bloody sponge to the floor.

"No, no. I mean, what would you be doing if you were not here?" Colonel Potter smiled through his mask and we all saw it. "Mildred and I would have taken the children, Effe and Jeanine, to her sister's, Bertha. They'd be a celebration that Hannibal had yet to see! The woman invited everybody in, even the stray cats. Sometimes, you'd never know who you'd be dancing with!"

"Peg and I had a Christmas before Erin was born," B.J. said afterward. "It was our first one together. Wonderful lights and a tree to see, a ride thought the city…and the dog behaved for once and I had plenty of peanut butter and jelly."

"With the crackers, Maestro?" Hawkeye asked as I moved the retractor out of his way, finished with its grisly work, and handed him the next instrument.

"Uh-huh," B.J. replied. "And a little more than six months later, Erin was born."

_And three months afterward, you were in Korea, dodging bullets and getting used to healthy bodies being shot up_, I thought grimly as each person went around saying what they would be doing, except for me (even Hawkeye joined in on the fun, saying there was going to be a family reunion at his father's seaside home). I said nothing about it and only worked with Hawkeye, helping him take off his gown when we were finished an hour later…for that session.

Hawkeye and I saw that there were no more patients in Pre-Op (thankfully, the first in some hours), so retired to the nearest bench: the rest/wash room, where hooks hung up his coat and mine. I took mine and put it over my white gown, not caring about the blood on it (there was little, so I could have cared less). I even kept the white O.R. cap on, as if to keep me warm and safe from the realities of war.

Of course, it failed miserably, reminding me snow, innocence and playfulness…and then blood, gore and death. It was everything that we had to deal with daily.

I collapsed on the bench and tilted my head back as I closed my eyes, sighing and wishing for a back massage. Hawkeye did the same (and was probably wishing the same) and snuggled next to me, his whitening hair tickling my right shoulder as he leaned forward for a kiss. Then, he asked as he nibbled on my neck, "So, what would you be doing if you weren't here?"

"I don't know," I honestly admitted. "I never really celebrated the holidays. When I was a kid, Mom and Clarence took me and Dean to church and we'd pretend to be happy. Well, Dean wasn't really a religious person, more so than me, though, but I was sleeping through it the whole time. Thankfully, I don't snore!"

"Really?" Hawkeye's laughter lifted my spirits a little, making me open my eyes to him. "How did you keep awake for Father Mulcahy? You've been attending his services sometimes."

"Father Mulcahy is also a good guy who doesn't push his own beliefs upon other people and will be there, as best as he could, for others," I replied loudly for that all could hear me.

"God bless you this Christmas, my child!" the Padre was heard saying to me as he passed me and Hawkeye in the hallway, on his way to see the orphans in the Mess Tent as he carried a tray of foodstuffs for them.

"You too, Father," I called back. To Hawkeye, as I turned back to him: "Mom and Clarence always had a Christmas tree and there were presents, but mostly it was crosses and religious items, although Henry and Lorraine gave us things we needed, like clothes, which was always nice. I think the best part of the day was later in the evening, just seeing the homeless people at the church when we went there to serve them food and play elves as 'Santa' – usually my stepfather – came to give toys to the kids. To see their faces was _amazing_, which was why I loved being with Sister Theresa last year. I'm not a motherly person, but the orphans always cheered me up."

"Then, I bet you can't wait to see my family," Hawkeye finally said, eating up my words as silence came between us. "We're not as devout, but we're rowdy and close."

"I would love to see everybody, especially your Dad." I meant every word.

"Come on, you two, we have children in the Mess Tent." Colonel Potter came into the room, throwing his gown into the laundry basket as putting on his coat. "Say, why the cheerless faces? I need my elves to be smiling and happy!"

"Just thinking, Sir," I replied, closing my eyes again.

"I know you're all wishing to home this Christmas," the Colonel responded, "but we have to make do with what we have. And we have children out there who usually have nothing. I need the help in keeping them in the coral." He paused. "That's an order, you two."

"Ahh, Sir, do you have to do that to us?" I asked, pushing Hawkeye off of me and getting up, stretching.

"I don't see any happy elves here," Hawkeye added, yawning.

"We need some Christmas cheer, you two," the Colonel continued, "and a couple of smiles are enough to for these kids. Tonight and tomorrow, they'll have food, fudge and even presents from Santa himself. Put a little heart into this…_please._"

"Now that I look into those little Colonel eyes, I can see why I should help." Hawkeye got up with me and put his coat on. "This elf needs some coffee before he works. Is here any in the drab, olive tent over there called the Mess Tent?"

"I should think so." Colonel Potter shook his head as he smiled.

"Don't, Hawkeye," I warned as I ambled behind my Love. "Last time I saw the coffee, it looked more white than grey. It's a bigger mess than the tent."

"Can we go for black?" Hawkeye asked. "Do I have an offer for black? Anybody in the back row want to bet?"

"Or brown?" Colonel Potter laughed.

As we three laughed and got of that horrible building for the first time in a month really, we huddled together, aiming to get Colonel Potter into the Swamp so that he could dress up for the part of Santa Claus (and for us to get dressed properly). We got there without the kids seeing us (either did Meg Cratty, who helped Sister Theresa keep the rowdy bunch within the tent confines). We then stuffed Colonel Potter silly with pillows under the clothes, unrolling cotton balls into a fake moustache and beard and gave him his bag of toys, kept deep in the Swamp for a reason.

"Are we ready to go, my elves?" Colonel Potter asked me and Hawkeye after we had dressed.

"Where are your other little elves?" Hawkeye inquired instead of answered.

"Waiting for us, I suppose. Ho, ho, ho!" Colonel Potter picked up his bag and walked awkwardly (the pillows seem to have made him a little clumsy) out of the Swamp, Hawkeye and I following him and pretending to smile and be perfect little elves.

"I wonder if Charles was volunteered…" I wondered out loud.

"He'd be more inclined to say, 'Bah, humbug!' than be Santa's little elf," Hawkeye replied, not in the mood to play with the kids, but, as always, hiding his feelings behind a mask…just like in the O.R. He was hiding the grimace of helplessness as each patient, each little child, died, and he could do nothing for them…nothing at all to help them or their families…

Before we three could enter the Mess Tent (Hawkeye had the door open, nobody seeing us), Klinger came towards us, running. The recently-divorced clerk (married by shortwave radio and divorced by letter) waved us down just as Hawkeye was about to open the door for "Santa". Shuddering as Colonel Potter gave him a look that would have even made _me_ whither with shame, Klinger warned, "Sirs, there is news. More wounded are on their way. Infantry units are attacking the Chinese now."

"Who has remembered 'Peace on Earth and goodwill to all men'?" Hawkeye lamented.

"Nobody," I replied softly.

"Klinger, how much longer do we have?" Colonel Potter closed the door. "Do we have until at least tomorrow?"

"I can ask the 8063rd if they can some of the wounded, but I can't make any promises." Klinger looked a little more than nervous at the moment because he knew Colonel Potter could explode in three seconds.

"Klinger we just got out of there –" Hawkeye began, beating the Colonel.

"Pierce, it's ok." Colonel Potter put a hand to his shoulder and then turned to Klinger. "Do your best, son. If we can have some time with Meg and her bunch, that's fine. If we can't, that's fine, as well. Just do your best, tune your conning skills and we might have a fine Christmas after all."

I half-expected the Colonel to yell at Klinger about the turn of events, but was surprised when he didn't. I think everybody else felt the same way because Klinger smiled very weakly and saluted (also expecting the same, I'm sure), saying that he'll do his best to let us have some time for ourselves this holiday season, before the New Year of 1953.

"May this be it for a while," I grumbled lightly.

"Don't be too hard on him, Jeanie," Colonel Potter replied, sighing as Hawkeye opened the door again and we walked in with joy plastered on our faces so falsely. "He's just making the job his own still and he's trying hard. Now, come on. Let's see these kids and try to put something joyful on everybody's face."

As Colonel Potter went to the center tables, the Colonel smiled and yelled, "Ho, ho, ho! Who has been naughty and nice this year?"


	12. Missing in Action

December 29, 1952, Rosie's Bar down the road from the 4077th: it was another anniversary to remember. Three years beforehand, my falcon, my Falk, was shot out of the sky by Colonel Flagg's (and mine, I should say) plans to overthrow the Soviet Union. And ever since my drunken mistake the first year around, when Dean dragged me out of the same bar after drinking over fifty dollars worth of gin (I remembered twenty, but I guess Rosie had a good day when I drank), I went to the same bar each time afterward, drinking and not getting too drunk in case things happened (except in the case of Hawkeye cheating on me with Margaret, but that was another story).

I closed my eyes, putting the scene of our last meeting into my mind, behind my eyelids.

_I was reading on the couch, skimming through another cheesy romance novel in German that Falk picked up for me at the local bookstore before he left someplace…again. He knew that I needed something different each time I read a book and didn't like trilogies or anything like that nowadays, seeing as how my attentions are always on the border that divides Germany or the positions of the Soviet soldiers versus, let's say, the British or Americans. Romances always kept me busy for a little while, but it also made my brain turn to mush in the worst way possible._

_The fireplace burned brightly. The chilly night air kept itself at bay as I laid in front of the warmth, reading about the love declaration of some man or another or how the woman slapped her lover and ran away in tears, knowing in her heart that it was not what she wanted. Jesus, what garbage!_

_Yet…yet…I knew the passionate feelings well, Falk always tending to my every need. Granted, we never had any arguments like _that_, but we've had some good verbal ones, one that woke the neighbors up and had the kids screaming next door. Oh, yes, we were vicious when we were angry, but sheer stubbornness kept us apart until one of us let up (and that usually took a while). Then, the other let down their defenses and all would be well again._

_Or, would it? I had argued with Falk for a whole _month_ about going into Soviet Russia. Flagg and I were making plans to infiltrate the central government because they were being a pain in the ass, or so I was told. I tried sending my people out there to see what was truly going on, but Flagg stopped me, saying that I had to trust him and not disobey orders._

_Of course, I could not do it (_ever_!), especially when Falk's life was on the line this mission. I could not trust anybody, not even myself, on this one. And I couldn't believe that he would put his _life_ into the hands of a sleazeball who wants to get into Soviet Russia and destroy it._

_I put my book down and moved a little closer to the fire as I threw the garbage aside, running my hands together as the heat enveloped me. I smiled, cursing the German winters and how little alcohol I could get in these neck of the woods. Granted, there was some around, but because of the previous war, the economy needed to pick up and it was slow in doing so. The new Democratic Republic of Germany wasn't so good at playing postwar games, after all, and I was lucky to even have a place in Berlin – with food in my pantry, even! – so, I try not to complain about the lack of alcohol._

_A rustling noise reached my ears, coming from behind me after the door opened from the hallway. I knew that it was Falk. We haven't really been talking lately, except maybe Christmas, and only jumped into bed together afterward, trying to have make-up sex, but failing miserably because it got too rough-and-tumble and were both practically clawed the other to pieces._

_Was it me, him or the both of us? I couldn't tell._

"_Are you ready to talk?" Falk had come up from behind me and hugged me, kissing my neck._

"_Are you ready to admit that I'm right?" I turned my head around and kissed him in the lips._

"_Never," he admitted as he held onto me for dear life. "And you're not going to, either. Jeanette, you have to understand, though. We have no control of anything, so we can't take people and see what's really going on. We need to trust someone. Sam Flagg said that we're going into the Soviet Union. Premier – so they call him – Stalin is a brutal man. The Russians need some sort of savior."_

"_So, you really believe that bullshit propaganda?" My grey eyes flashed anger, my German turning into English. Falk, though, understood me and knew that I could rip his head off at any moment, so tried to pacify me with words that even made me calm down._

"_No, no, no," Falk reassured me, back to German. "Jeanette, it's just what he said. It's what _I'm_ saying only. But, I can't explain to you why I want to go, even though I can't believe in his reasoning. I think you'll understand more when I come back." He kissed my neck again. "But, I've been trying to make everything up for you. I try to be your lover, your falcon. Am I still that?"_

_My eyes softened, even though my curiosity to know why he was going was killing me. "Of course, Falk," I replied, feeling my stony heart turn warmer. "I really understand. I know. Things have to be done, no matter what we feel. And sometimes, it makes me regret that I gave up nursing for all of this."_

_Falk's laughter barked and then howled into my ear. Then, he yelled, "You, motherly and compassionate? I'm laughing."_

_I stood up quickly, almost knocking him over to the floor. "You want to bet? If I beat you, do you want to learn, the hard way, that you need a nurse and that she won't help you?"_

"_No, no, no…" Falk lapsed into English and then looked at me, adding, "I bet I can beat you to the bedroom, though."_

"_You're on!" I replied as I ran, the two of us pushing each other out of the way as we raced on to the bedroom on the other side of the apartment._

"Captain? Captain Morrison? Where are you, Sir?"

A voice broke me from my memories, oh, such sweet memories, and there I was, back at Rosie's Bar in Korea in the middle of yet another war. I could not relive my time with Falk, the last time we were together as a couple – together as one entity, as two people always make themselves. Oh, bittersweet memories…stay with me!

"Over here," I called back, sounding annoyed that I was disturbed.

I saw the man – dirty, tired and throwing his gun into the corner – before he came to me in the corner table, near the window. He was panting, obviously running from a long distance, and held the patches on his uniform that told me he was with the 43rd Infantry, with my brother.

Suddenly, my thoughts scattered like rats escaping from a cage, thinking the worst had happened because he ran a long way to talk to me about something important.

_Jesus, what's going on? Is there an attack? Has anything happened to my brother? Oh, no. Does Colonel Potter need me now? No, no, there are too many possibilities. I hope they're good. I don't need any more bad news. No, no, no…Jesus, no. Are there more wounded men in the compound? No, we've been swamped and somebody from our unit would have been here by now. What could it be?_

"Sir," the man saluted and then sat down, "I ran all the way here and I had to tell you before somebody else did –"

"Jesus, man, just tell me!" I was becoming impatient by the second with the lack of news.

"Captain, please listen. I can't stay long. Colonel Coner will have my ass in a sling if he found me here, talking to you and all, but…Captain, please, it's not my fault. I swear to God, it isn't! That Colonel Coner took your brother, the Major, out for a drink and…and…"

"And what?" I screamed, breathing faster and faster, my head spinning. Some people looked my way, but I didn't care. I was panicking.

"He never came back. Colonel Coner came back ok, but all dirty and scraped up, said that there was enemy fire and that Major Morrison had taken care of it behind them. But time passed. He never came back. So, Colonel Coner is putting him on report, saying that he went A.W.O.L. Major Morrison is in trouble, Sir, and if you see him, warn him about this. But I don't think he went missing, Sir. I think Colonel Coner did something to him and he's still out there, wounded or something."

A shiver went down my back, as if to warn me of something.

"Sir, I have to go. Colonel Coner will have me out in the fields if he saw me here, picking up more dead men, if I don't get back in time to go back to the Front." The man saluted again as he and I got up at the same time. Shaking, he added behind him, "Don't look for him, Captain. A band of us will. I promise you that he'll come back to you. Be careful."

I knocked over my gin glass in another panic attack as the man ran out of the bar, taking his gun with him. My heart beat faster, wondering…wishing…I knew what was going on.

_Jesus, I need to find out! I need to find Dean!_

I ran to the counter, giving Rosie her bar tab that I owed her for the month and strode out the door, running back to the camp before something else could happen to my brother and I wasn't there to prevent it. People were looking for him, so I was told by the soldier. But I needed to know what else was going on.

_Could we have him there? Could he be at the 4077__th__, safe and sound?_ I didn't know. I needed answers!

"Klinger, is Colonel Potter in?" I yelled as I yanked the doors of the office open a mere minute later, seeing the clerk at the phone, covering the phone with his hand and then hanging up within seconds, an apology to the person on the other line.

"The mighty Sherman Potter is currently busy writing reports and – hey, Captain, he said not to disturb him! Get away! Get away from there!" Klinger ran in front of the Colonel's office doors and tried to stop me from going in to speak to him about Dean. But I didn't care. I needed to know more about my brother.

"What is all this ruckus?" The Colonel finally yelled from his office as I started screaming to him, on the top of my lungs, about my brother as Klinger argued about me screaming, being unprofessional with the wounded in the next room and being unreasonable in my requests. But, I didn't care. I needed to know about Dean!

Colonel Potter finally came out of his office, seeing me red in the face from the cold and anger and Klinger white and panicking. His face, though, registered sympathy and pity, almost, like he was already in mourning for Dean.

"Colonel, Captain Morrison here –"

"Klinger, that will be enough." Colonel Potter put his hand up to silence him. To me, he said, "Captain, calm down. As far as I know, your brother is still missing. His men are still looking for him, since Colonel Coner is expecting a dead body."

I shuddered. "I think the Colonel took Dean out to kill him, Sir," I rushed out, not caring still.

Colonel Potter only put his arms around me, as if to hug me and keep me from the bad news. "I know, Captain, I know…"

He continued with his words of reassurance, but it wasn't working with me. I needed my brother and I needed him to live, alongside me. And I could only see him in my dreams like always, in the darkness that I hated so much.

It was all I could hear before I passed out from utter exhaustion and despair.


	13. Freezing Rain, Ice, Snow and Sleet

A wet, cold cloth went across my sweaty forehead as I woke up (sleepily, not quite registering anything quite yet) in the Swamp, only aware that Hawkeye was over me and that freezing rain was pouring ice on the ground once more. The protective flaps of the tent made everything darker (and a little wetter), but a single light over my head highlighted his worried face. His forehead was wrinkled with lines, especially when I saw his blue eyes flash at me, surprised that I woke up.

I jolted awake, the wet cloth flying into a pile of dirty clothes, knowing immediately what conspired beforehand as my mind raced to thoughts about the soldier telling me the news at Rosie's. "Hawkeye, where is he? Did they find him yet? Is he ok?"

Hawkeye's face showed me the truth: either they found my brother and it wasn't good or that he wasn't found yet and still missing in action. In any case, my brother was still missing and/or hurt and he needed help. It made me shiver with the fear in my heart, a twin's worry and wistfulness for the safety of my other sibling that stood by for all of these years.

I got up, almost knocking Hawkeye over, and started to put my coat and boots on, finally intent on finding Dean, dead or alive. I almost passed out again (feeling dizzy), but I didn't care. I just wanted to see my brother safe, no matter how exhausted I was.

"Jeanie, what are you doing?" Hawkeye spoke for the first time, in words I could distantly hear. "You can't go out there, searching for Dean. It's cold out there."

"Since when has that stopped me from doing anything?" I muttered sarcastically as I hopped around getting my other boot on.

"Just in case you haven't noticed, Miss Crazy, there's a storm out there. And storms usually come from with the season, you know, like winter brings snow and wind. Ice makes you slip. Snow makes you blind. Freezing rain – now, here's the tricky part to all of this – makes it twice as hard to find somebody. Now, would you like to try it out, to see if my theories are true?"

I stopped my mad motions (everything on and I was ready to go), barely registering Hawkeye's ranting. Shaking my head and not caring anymore, I pulled some of the blankets around my cot aside, seeing an empty Swamp – no egoistical Charles and no moping B.J. I felt somehow a little relieved and happy they were not around. It made arguing with Hawkeye easier.

I went for the door as I dashed as fast as I could dare, but Hawkeye got there first as he went past my blurry eyesight, blocking my way, making me angrier than what I already was.

"Move aside, Love," I only said as I stopped in front of him, panting. "You don't understand –"

"Potter ordered you to stay here and not go anywhere," Hawkeye interrupted, dashing all of my plans and hopes.

"So, what am I supposed to so?" I yelled, throwing up my hands in the air out of frustration and utter madness. I went for something to smash – anything that make me anger go away! – but things like that, things that could be broken, were out of reach. Apparently, the Swampmen knew about my temper and put everything breakable away.

"Stay here, wait out the storm, go to your shifts and wait patiently for any news."

"As if I could go on as if life was normal and Dean was not missing, Hawkeye!"

"Wouldn't your brother love it any other way?" Hawkeye smiled, beckoning me to his cot as he started to trust me again, knowing I wouldn't leave. "Come on, we have some business of our own to conduct. There are more than two ways to get warm."

"Other than drinking from the still and being with you?" I ask, for the first time since being at Rosie's smiling. However, the back of my mind was telling me otherwise, telling me that Dean was out there and needed my help…cold, helpless and screaming about Colonel Coner.

~00~

The storm lasted for a few days. First, it was freezing rain that coated the camp with a slippery solid ice sheet that would not let us open doors (Charles even stubbed his big toe trying to kick the Swamp's doors open to go to the latrine). Next, we had sleet, which turned the ice on the ground into mush – a mix of everything _plus_ the mud. Less than two days later, the weather turned for the worst and we had a snowstorm that made even Sergeant Rizzo at the Motor Pool run into Post-Op, hurdling next to the stove that was allowed us for at the 4077th. Even the patients themselves, if they could, would also hurdle next to their stove, exchanging stories and laughing.

But, none of them was Dean. My brother was still not found among the living or the dead and it had almost been four days. New Year's Eve was upon us once more – another hope for the war to end – and yet, my brother was still missing, somewhere out there in Korea.

On New Year's Eve, I was in Post-Op with Colonel Potter, Margaret and B.J., standing closer to each other to stay warm and keep an eye on the patients as we all sipped some warm coffee, when darkness rolled on early in the afternoon, snowflakes softly piling up against each corner, door and tiny creak. Hawkeye kept coming in and out, kissing me under a homemade wreath left over from Christmas as he checked patients (Kellye and I decided that it would be more cheerful if left there until January) and made sure that the door could open and close, considering the horrible weather.

Finally, after hours of being in suspense and all of us holding our breath – the ancient year of 1952 coming to a close – the hour of midnight struck, Klinger on the P.A. telling us of the next new beginning.

"Attention, attention all personnel: it is now zero hundred hours, midnight, of January 1, 1953. Happy New Year, everyone!"

Margaret and I looked to each other, coffee warming our hands as we heard some shouts outside. We toasted each other and then did the same with Colonel Potter and B.J.

"It's 1953 already and I can't believe it," I said, sipping my coffee, worry about Dean off of my mind for a moment.

"May this damned war end this year," Colonel Potter added.

"Under warmer circumstances," B.J. laughed, shivering.

"I don't care when, just as long as it ends!" Margaret added, hugging me – coffee cup spilling coffee and all – and left her arms around me as I felt the steam whirl into my hair, sticking out from under Hawkeye's old hat. I didn't know whether it was for warmth or comfort…or both, even. All I was aware of was the reassuring arms of the Head Nurse around me, not caring when a war ends, just as long as it _ends_ and we all go home.

_I could drink to that, Margaret. Oh, sweet Jesus, could I _ever_ drink to that!_

A door was open on the other side of Post-Op, where the administrative office was, making the four of us wonder who could be wandering through. When Margaret let go of me and looked around the curtain, outside the circle of warmth, she saw Klinger and waved him over. The Lebanese clerk came over – furry, obnoxious coat and all – and saluted Colonel Potter.

"No other news from the Front Lines, Sir," he said, knowing what the Colonel wanted. "No wounded are coming in. The 8063rd also has had a quiet evening."

"Is there any more news about my brother, Klinger? Anything at all?" I asked, quite anxious to know if anything was known yet.

"A man from the 43rd came by earlier, Captain," Klinger replied as Colonel Potter put a hand on my shoulder, as if to comfort me. "He told a story about how he might have went missing, all information from the people who saw them at the Officers' Club. Namely, he got it from the bartenders."

"Went out with Colonel Coner and was missing afterward, with claims of enemy fire," B.J. sarcastically said.

"Yeah, well, Colonel Coner cannot fill out the A.W.O.L paperwork, since no enemy fire was reported in the area he said there was." Klinger was silent for a moment. "In other words, Sirs, he lied on his report and is facing a court martial if he does not come up with the truth or can prove that he had nothing to do with it."

"Anything else?" Margaret inquired, a tear quickly running down her face. For what it was for, I could not tell.

_Sympathy? Pity? Oh, Margaret, what are you crying for?_

"The Officers' Club that hosted the two officers saw both leave," Klinger replied. "They said there was a sniper in the area, but a man got to it before anybody was hurt. It was quick, only five minutes, I swear, Captain!" He saw my face streaked with horror, whitening at the thought of a sniper getting to my brother. "Nobody was hurt, according to reports from I-Corp. One shot was heard and it was taken care of quickly. Now, the route the two took is being searched as we speak. Nothing has been found, not even a body. How Colonel Coner came up dirty, a little hurt and yelling about enemy fire makes my nose tingle."

I sighed in frustration, about to scream again when the door from the other side opened suddenly, letting in some cold air. I almost even hit the person who let in the cold, but it was only Father Mulcahy with Hawkeye hotly behind him. I bottled the emotions once more. The two did not deserve it.

"Happy New Year, everybody," the good Padre said, taking off his customary hat and shaking the snow off of it. "My, what weather we have tonight!"

"If this doesn't stop, I'm quitting the war," Hawkeye added behind him, slipping around everybody to check on some of the patients that could not get up and talk around the stove across the room, near us.

"We all should send in a resignation," B.J. sighed, rubbing his hands against his coffee cup.

I looked at him, knowing how right he and Hawkeye were. And yet…when I look at him and his aging face – receding blonde hairline, moustache and wrinkled grins – I saw how much he changed with the war. B.J. was playful, even respectful to a point, when he came to Korea. Looking at him on January 1, 1953, I saw a mangled mess of a man: hiding, hoping and wishing. Like all of us, had a home to go to, a wife and a little girl to see. But he, out of all of us, had something more to keep closer to his heart, especially thinking about how he had to stay alive to see his family again.

"…and have the whole camp sign it," Colonel Potter laughed, the first part of his sentence blocked out by my thoughts.

"And send it where?" Margaret asked, one of the most Regular Army of this bunch (but also becoming more and more like the girls, although she will never admit it). "Headquarters in Seoul will rip it to shreds."

"It could be our belated Christmas present to them," Hawkeye said, coming back to us as he gave Colonel Potter a worried look. "We could wrap it with tissue paper, bows and ribbons."

"I wonder if we could send it to MacArthur. Does he have influence still?" I thought out loud.

"Doubt it," Klinger laughed. "If he couldn't give me a Section Eight when dressing like Lady Liberty when he was in power, then I don't think he would help this unit resign the war."

Hawkeye then whispered something in the Colonel's ear, which caught his attention (surprise even came on his face, sadness afterward), something that made him sigh. Then, he signaled to me and Hawkeye to follow him to the other side of the room, where nobody could hear us. On the way there, I saw an orderly pull a sheet over a man's body. It made me shiver, cold with fear.

Finally, we three reached the other side of Post-Op, confident that nobody could hear us behind the other curtain (except the wounded that cannot get up), right by the door. Cold air filtered through, but I didn't care anymore. Something was up.

"Pierce, when did this happen?" Colonel Potter asked, motioning his head to the body now being carried out of Post-Op.

"I don't know, Colonel," Hawkeye replied sadly. "Private Williams was fine this afternoon. His pulse, blood pressure and everything were fine. He was alive then, but he said he felt tired and went to sleep."

"Literally dying in his sleep," I added, choking back my emotion once more.

"Could I have missed something?" Hawkeye asked, more to himself than to me and Colonel Potter.

"I don't think so, son. Don't blame yourself." Colonel Potter put a fatherly hand on Hawkeye's shoulders, and then on mine. "The only person we could blame here is Colonel Coner and, right about now, I think he's getting his due again."

I let out some air slowly. "Another man from the 43rd is gone?" I couldn't _believe_ it.

"Which is why we can't afford another, especially your brother," Colonel Potter said quietly, not to arouse anybody's interests in our conversation. "They're working hard, Jeanie, to find your brother. The search ends in two days, though, and the Army will declare him M.I.A. if they can't find him."

"Then let him be found," Hawkeye muttered.

"Amen," I added, wondering why I could say such a word in these circumstances, wondering why, as the snowflakes continued to fall, that I was finally putting some faith and prayers into the God that never helped me, will never answer my prayers…_ever_.


	14. Alive

I slept, eat, walked, worked, played and dreamed. My reality and dreamtime became one. I could not tell which scene, in my mind, was real or which one was surreal. Thoughts passed in me that made me worry more and more about Dean – about the family curse that always followed him around like a lost puppy – and it reeled me back in, making me naked and wanting to hide once more.

I was functioning, but felt like I was not. I was like a ghost without a specific purpose in the living, breathing world of Korea.

A few days after the last man from the 43rd had died, I was in the Swamp, shivering and thinking. I wasn't quite alone (Charles was playing Schubert, B.J. was cleaning clothes and hanging them up and Hawkeye was nowhere in sight), but felt the need to be. The only way I would feel alone was to read some of my own mail or musings: a sense of peace and tranquility that possibly was in-between each line, written by me. It was always wishing for the people on the other side – the eyes that would scan my words unkindly – to hear me out.

_But, would I? I chose to be in the Swamp. Hawkeye invited me in, Frank complaining all the way. But, it made sense to be there, comfortable and happy without the nosy nurses who harassed me. Alone is something reserved for those higher up than I am…those assholes._

I opened my footlocker on an impulse, which held my processions and my letters and journal, which were no longer gracing and decorating the sloppy floors of the Swamp. After pushing aside the odd trinkets and toys – love letters from Hawkeye, wilted wildflowers from the summers before and even a painted doll that Henry (alive then) had gotten me the last time he was in Tokyo – I saw what I wanted to see. After setting my letters to one side, it was still there: a little dusty, wrinkled and folded a few times over. But, it was there.

The papers crinkled as I lifted it. Last touched by Calvin Spaulding when we were all in Tokyo last April (before I put them back in the footlocker after jotting down some more verse), the words of my poem danced before my eyes. Granted, it was incomplete, but it made me feel closer to my own self, that sense of loneliness I felt when writing it for the first time. I alone in the Swamp, at the moment, had seen Calvin Spaulding. I alone in the camp had written to him last, before I found out that he committed suicide, a bullet to his head in the backroom of a bar.

_Through early morning fog I see  
Visions of the things to be  
The pains that are withheld for me  
I realize and I can see…_

_Suicide is painless  
It brings on many changes  
And I can take or leave it  
If I please_

_I try to find a way to make  
All our little joys relate  
Without that ever-present hate  
But now I know that it's too late_

_Suicide is painless  
It brings on many changes  
And I can take or leave it  
If I please_

_The game of life is hard to play  
I'm gonna lose it anyway  
The losing card I'll someday lay  
So this is all I have to say._

_Suicide is painless  
It brings on many changes  
And I can take or leave it  
If I please_

_The only way to win is cheat  
And lay it down before I'm beat  
And to another give my seat  
For that's the only painless feat_

_Suicide is painless  
It brings on many changes  
And I can take or leave it  
If I please_

_The sword of time will pierce our skins  
It doesn't hurt when it begins  
But as it works its way on in  
The pain grows stronger, watch it grin_

_Suicide is painless  
It brings on many changes  
And I can take or leave it  
If I please_

He said it was like a song. _Calvin said it was like a song._ It was a song of life and death and how the cards dealt with you in this situation might be your last: a gamble to the end. Sometimes, it's your own, sometimes it's another. But, in the end, this just another suicide waiting to happen.

Was it my life in Korea? Was it this war's song? Could it define my life here, to tell me about the hardships and toil in this thing called war? _Could I be alone in this?_ Could it be possible that this one poem would help me define Korea and we've all been feeling, tasting, _wishing for_, as we toil here? _Could it be my longing for loneliness, for love, for my family?_

I closed my eyes as I knelt there, like in a church: thinking, holding the poem in my hands, my things scattered around my area in the Swamp. I felt what I wanted by achieving this, but to what end? The war was on, my brother was still missing and my daughter might not be with Trapper come the end of the month. I could be in Korea forever, I might not see my brother again and my daughter was being shipped away again.

_And there was nothing that I could do about it._ I was losing everything and more with all of these wartime gambles I have made. What more could I take?

My head finally perked up after a few minutes when an announcement was heard. "Attention, attention all personnel: look what the war dragged in. Incoming wounded, coming in only on the bus today."

"There's that house call again," I heard B.J. say behind the blankets as he and Charles walked outside into the cold, the former complaining to the latter about his winter coat and how we're all freezing, including the wounded.

I dropped the paper, watching it fly to the floor of the Swamp, and ran, almost tangling myself in the blankets again. After a struggle or three as everything else fell on top of me and rolled into a mess (the blankets dropping to the floor), I ran out the doors of the Swamp and to the bus, parked in front of the Pre-Op doors a few yards away from me. Already, the usual crowds were there and moving against the time and cold, Colonel Potter personally supervising the flow of nurses, orderlies and doctors. It had been the usual scene for over two and a half years.

And yet…and yet…it still had not ended. Red covered the white ground still.

I was about to head to the bus, seeing Hawkeye run out of Post-Op's doors and see to the flow inside of the bus, but a jeep caught my eye. A man was yelling for some help as he drove up to the unit, saying something about finding this body out in the fields, an officer that had been missing for some time. B.J. heard the yell and, after attending to a patient briefly (one that could wait), strode to the jeep, his big feet making oversized steps on the slippery ground, without slipping miraculously. I followed him, torn between the overcrowded bus and that one man for a moment, and felt the cold whip the air out of my lungs, somehow telling me, in hushed whirls and whips, that this was my brother and that he was alive somehow.

"Cold kept him alive because the blood was frozen. Heartbeat is still there, pulse is irregular. Toes and fingers are frozen. We need to get him inside immediately!"

More words went past my ears, wild and even irate, coming out of B.J.'s mouth, prompting me to move. Oh, God, yes, was it Dean. _My brother was alive!_

I saw him unconscious, helpless. I grabbed one end of the stretcher and prompted the man to move my brother into Pre-Op and then, before I knew it, to the O.R. seconds later: in a white gown, scrubbed up and gloved. My brother was alive; he was alive on that table. Trying to get his temperature up, warming up his fingers and toes and hoping that he lost nothing to frostbite jumped into my mind often. I played his nurse. I played second fiddle to his slow recovery. And dammit…dammit, _he_ _was alive_!

And, hours later in the numbness called the O.R., he was still alive. And I was still in the O.R., working on the realities of war: blood, gore and balances lying naked before us.


	15. How Do You Feel?

"How do you feel?"

It was the first question I immediately threw at Dean as I sat next to him in Post-Op. Dean had woken up from surgery a few minutes before and B.J. had personally ran into the Swamp to tell me, even though he was still on a shift. I got up from reading the latest letter from my mother (who heard that Dean was missing in, via a message from the Army, and was writing to ask what was going on) and almost yelled with joy. _My brother was alive!_

"How do you think I _feel_, little sister?" Dean shook his head, coughing as I started to give him the customary sponge bath that he needed, even though it was not my shift. "This damned chest wound is keeping me from the Front Lines, Coner is still commanding my men despite the accusations I'm putting before him and I'm cold as hell. I want to dictate to Klinger, but I can't find him. That nurse on duty won't page him. I'm _frustrated_ as hell."

I laughed, finishing up with the clean-up. "Come on, Dean, it can't be _that_ bad. You're lucky to be alive right now and you've been missing for days now. I think it was a week."

"Seems like forever," Dean sighed.

"Jesus, Dean, if you're that worried, I'll find Klinger." I paused. "I was told that you were taken to the Officers' Club, the two of you laughed and had drinks and left before the sniper came to town. Then, Coner was reported to have come back to the unit, saying that you stayed behind because of enemy fire. There was none reported in the area he said it was in, save for that sniper. The men started to report against him and he's going to have to face the reports if they catch up with him. He's in deep trouble."

"Enemy fire, my ass, Jeanie! That's bullshit. Coner and I went to the Officers' Club and had a good time, yes. It felt wrong, though. Sinister, more like it, because he was nice to me, patting me on the back and treating me like an old friend of his when I was not. However, when we left, arm-in-arm, we went up some hill, a shortcut back where the unit was temporarily based, and walked into the woods. Colonel Coner led me there. And he shot me."

"Is that all you can remember?" I panicked, wanting to kill Coner. The want matched my other desire: seeing my brother come out this alive.

"Yeah, Jeanie, that's all I can remember right now. Other than trying to eat out of my C rations and trying to keep warm and maybe being picked up, I remember nothing more than blurs."

"It's usually like that." I paused again, noticing, for the first time, how his muscles seemed to have gotten smaller, how thin he looked, especially his cheeks. "I heard that the 43rd was coming here next week, if the weather and the enemy permit them to."

"Coner has already ordered them to stay away from me and the 4077th. He has already petitioned, as early as last month, to have the 'guard duty' taken off of my unit's list of things to do. So far, because it seems like the end of the war is near, Colonel Coner has had his way." Dean sounded saddened by the fact, adding, "But, it can't stop me men from stopping _me_ personally, unless Coner has something else up his sleeve."

"He can't do that, Dean. No, he can't. The 43rd has been guarding this unit since you came from advanced training, round one, a couple of years ago. Colonel Coner can't just petition to have this unit used as a target. We're three miles from the Front Lines, dammit! We don't have the people anymore to play guard."

"Seeing as how Klinger is no longer in heels, a slip and dress," Dean laughed, giving me that smile reserved for his joking side. He changed the topic, trying to keep on from ranting, so I took it as is.

"He actually wears a uniform now! It's funny. But, it seems like Klinger is finally coming out of some shell that he's been hiding under and showing us a personality he left behind in Toledo until now."

"You're right, little sister. Something tells me that Klinger has more up his sleeve than we think he does, much more so than Colonel Coner." He paused. "Do you remember all those schemes that he always had? He aggravated Henry a lot in those early days of the war, but seemed to have given Colonel Potter a challenge for a while. I mean, the Colonel even called bullshit on a lot of things and was amused for a while with it. He was patient and I'll give him credit for it. Henry just seemed to have laughed everything off as he read off the records, like when he mentioned the report of half of his family dying and the other pregnant."

I giggled. "Remember the first time Colonel Potter and Klinger met? Klinger was in a yellow dress and Radar was trying to stop him from coming in, but he went in anyway. Now, what were his words after saluting the Colonel? 'Colonel Potter, Sir! Corporal Klinger. I'm Section Eight, head to toe. I'm wearing a Warner Bra. I play with dolls. My last wish is to be buried in my mother's wedding gown. I'm nuts. I should be out.' I was laughing when Radar repeated the words when we were all drinking in the Swamp. I almost spit out my drink."

"'Horse hockey' indeed!" Dean laughed along with us, but then started coughing again. It was deep and heavy, like something was in his chest.

I held his hand – the best I could do for my brother at the moment – before his stopped.

"You know that worries me, Dean, right?" I rubbed my brother's hand with my fingers, almost willing him to get better, to walk again and to be well…to go home safely and be married to Amy, who loves me so much.

"Come off it, Jeanie. I'll be fine. You're the worry wart of the two of us."

"Am not and you know it."

"I call bullshit on it because –"

"Hey, hey, am I disturbing a party here?" B.J. had come up from behind us, standing at the end of Dean's bed. "I thought I said no drinking was allowed here."

"Sibling argument, B.J.," Dean claimed.

"Or something more," I added. I looked to my brother. "I'm winning this one."

"You are not, Jeanie. I always win our arguments. You're just too stubborn to admit it."

"How are you feeling, Dean?" B.J. asked, nodding his head patiently and writing things down on the clipboard as Dean talked about his coughing, the pain in his chest and how cold he felt all the time even though his temperature was normal.

B.J. smiled when he was done writing it all down. "I'll check back on you soon, Major. Jeanie, can I talk with you in the office?"

"Sure…"

Something sounded urgent in B.J.'s voice (something important that needed to be said to me), so I got up from my seat, forgetting my washing supplies on the floor, and followed him into Klinger's office space, where we had privacy, to an extent.

B.J. sighed with frustration, his head shaking with sadness and most of all, worry.

"What is it, B.J.? You asked for me and now you have me. What's up? What's so urgent?" I was impatient to know what was going on.

"Jeanie, you might want to sit down –"

"B.J., I'll be fine. Just tell me what's going on!"

"Ok, then…" He looked uncertain and unsure of himself, seeing me standing there without anybody but him to grab me if I passed out with the bad news I knew he was going to tell me (and he saw he had to by the way I crossed by arms and scowled at him with impatience). "Your brother isn't doing too well. He came in here, half dead, and almost ready to quit. He was out in the cold for days and he was lucky he didn't lose any fingers or toes. But, he also was hit hard. He didn't just take a shot, like you've probably noticed. He took _many_ shots in the chest. It did enough damage, enough to kill him, but he was lucky enough that he came here alive. He might not make it, he might. We don't know right now. But, at this point, if he doesn't improve in the next few days or so, he'll die."

I was silent. My cold body went numb…no feeling. I started shaking, not thinking.

"Oh, God," was all I said before I collapsed. B.J. caught me, hearing me repeat the sentence a few times before I leaned against him again, trying to be strong…grabbing my own footing…my mind reeling and trying to find a reason to smile for Dean when I saw him next.

"Jeanie, we'll do the best we can, you know that. But sometimes…" B.J. trailed, not knowing what else to say to me.

"I'll stay with him," I promised, about to cry, but keeping my face frozen in place: another mask I had to keep in place. "I'll sit with him until something happens. I'll be with him. He can't be alone. I'll be with him."

I leaned my head on B.J.'s shoulder, knowing. Something was about to happen, I knew it! As his sister – his twin, his younger twin sister! – I knew. I knew something was going to happen. I just didn't know what it was then.

* * *

**I know this is all coming too quickly and all at once. I apologize, but I did say things were coming in quickly. So...please review? Or read my other stories about Jeanie? I know that you want to!**


	16. Dear God, Spare Him!

_January 16, 1953  
Post-Op Ward_

_Oh, Journal, Dean doesn't improve, like what B.J. predicted might happen. For about a week now, he's been in this ward, fighting off a cough and cold and the pain in his chest. And for this whole week, I've been with him: not moving, not sleeping and always attending to him, no matter if I'm on a shift or not. It makes it easier, I suppose, but I've not the energy to change, shower, eat or sleep even. Hawkeye will sometimes remind me to eat or change or something, pushing me out the door to get these things done and I'll obey him for as little as time as I could. I cannot bear to be away from Dean for long._

_I _need_ to be with my brother. I need him. I need him to be alive!_

_Two days ago, Dean seemed to have been improving. He sat up in his bed for the first time since the day he woke up from surgery, talked and joked with me, saying how good of a day it was for him (and even the weather). He even told me to shower because I stank and probably had not washed my hair in days because I was with him. He read his letters from Mom, wrote one to her as I laughed and showered, and then was tired by the end of the day after he dictated to Klinger what he accused Colonel Coner of and signed it, asking that it be shipped out A.S.A.P. He then sank down into his fluffy pillows, comfortable as can be, and went to sleep, only to wake up to pain later that night, at about midnight. Colonel Potter was on his shift that night, but could do almost nothing. B.J. missed nothing in surgery, we gave him all the medication he could have (the infection would not go away) and was given the most love a sister could give. And yet, he is worse._

_His temperature was up a few minutes ago, but his body is cold, especially his hands. His blood pressure is slightly dropped, but not to a dangerous level yet. He could eat, but not that much. He did keep it down the last time I fed him, which was a few hours ago. Otherwise, he was throwing up every meal I gave him, no matter how appealing it was._

_It can all change, though. It can change quickly._

_I have slept little, ate almost nothing and have not moved in two days, not since he worsened. I do not dare. Dean needs me…_

_I have missed the hearing in Seoul about the custody of my daughter. Colonel Flagg asked that I come, because it was voluntary (meetings like that can go on without me), but I missed it, forgot about it completely yesterday. However, what was requested was a sample of Hawkeye's blood, so that went to Seoul a few days ago to help in the custody debate. He gave it freely, laughing as they took his blood, but something in my Love's eyes told me that this was no game anymore. With me frantic about everything (Dean on the top of the list, Shannon following right behind him), he could not afford to be joking around, even with Dean so sick and…our…daughter in Flagg's hands across the globe._

_Oh, dear God, if there is one, spare him. Spare Dean. I cannot live life without him. Oh, please, God, if I can believe in you, hand us a miracle! Please do something! Father Mulcahy is here with me now, praying on his knees for Dean, so please heed him. Please listen to his prayers. Please, please, please…_

_Dean asked for him, but then fell asleep when he came. Consider his sleep a prayer to live amongst us of some sort or make it a painless sleep. We can't keep giving him antibiotics and morphine forever. Oh, please…oh, dear God, help us now. Let us not lose Dean. He's too young to die, God! He can't go yet. He's thirty years old and has everything to live for, a girl to love and a sister to be with. Oh please, God, don't let Dean die!_

~00~

"Jeanie, are you awake?"

I was sleeping again (so rare had it been for the past few days) and was woken up by Dean's weak voice. It was the middle of the night. I wasn't on a shift (Margaret was on the other side of Post-Op, always ready to be there when I needed it) and was still at Dean's side, hoping that he'd improve. For a few days, he seemed ok (not great, but right in the middle), but the night before, he turned for the worse once again.

That question gave me some hope somehow. Dean was still talking. He was still _alive_.

"Yeah, I'm awake, older brother." I whispered so that the other patients could not be woken up.

"Are you awake or did I just wake you up?"

"Dean, I'm awake. It doesn't matter if you did wake me up or not. What's wrong? Do you need anything? Do you need one of the doctors? Are you in pain?"

"Nothing is wrong, Jeanie. I don't need a doctor, much less anything else. I feel numb." Dean paused. "I made my peace with God – or whoever it is there in the afterlife, if there is something there – and I don't know if I should rejoice or be tranquil in my journey."

"What journey?" My tears were filling with tears for the first time since this whole affair began, when Dean came to us. "Dean, you're going home. You're going to recover and go home to Bloomington and wait for Amy and get married and move to Turner Falls, like you said you were going to."

"Jeanie, you don't understand. I know that I'm going to die. I just don't know when." My brother shook his head slightly and weakly took my hand, lying on the side of his bed the whole time I was with him. "Don't cry, Jeanie. Please don't. You'll make me cry, too." He then laughed softly, as if this was all a joke. "I saw Henry the other night, while you were sleeping. He told me not to be afraid of anything and that everybody had been waiting for me to come home."

"Are you sure you weren't disillusioned?" I joked, trying to get myself to laugh, getting my tears to stop coming. "Henry is dead, Dean. He can't be walking amongst the living, telling them that they are going to die and that people on 'the other side' are waiting for them to come home."

"This is coming from the person who admitted that she saw dead people while she was working and even sleeping! Jesus, Jeanie, admit it. You can't be denying everything for your whole life. There is an afterlife, is we can call it that. I don't know whether or not to call it heaven, hell or whatever else it's called. But, it seems peaceful. It's a tunnel almost. When I sleep, I can see it in my mind. There's a light there and shadows of people who are walking there all the time. They come from everywhere, even people we are ordered to kill on the Front Lines. I want to go there, but something won't let me because I'm not ready. God, I don't know how else to explain it. Do you know what I mean?"

I shook my head, remembering the dream with Falk in the alleyway and how he said that I was to remember him in my future. _I knew that I could not enter that tunnel with him, no matter what I wanted. Oh, Jesus Christ…would it be the same?_

There was a long silence. Around us – a circle in which it seemed like it was just the two us – the wind howled, snow and ice hitting the sides of the building. Patients snored, sighed and tossed in their sleep. And there was Margaret, sitting there at desk by a single light illuminating her face, writing up reports. She turned around to see me as I looked to her, as if sensing that I needed her. She then smiled and mouthed, "How are you doing?"

I gave the Head Nurse a weak smile and shook my head in encouragement, realizing that, for the first time, Dean's grip on my hand was not quite there anymore. When I looked back at him as Margaret went back to work, I saw that he looked peacefully asleep almost. I leaned forward, kissed his forehead lightly, and took his hand again, watching his once-strong features turn almost childlike, his eyelashes latched together like Shannon's was when she was sleeping. Then, a moment later, he was awake, his eyes moving up and down like shutters to a window.

_Eyes are the windows to the soul._ Was the window to my brother's soul finally shutting closed for the final time?

"Jeanie…" Dean's voice was low and I almost could not hear him. "I know that I'm not quite ready, but I've made myself as ready as I can ever be. I can't believe it, little sister. Is it to be or not be? Is this really _real_?"

"Oh, why ask me?" I asked. Tears came into my eyes, blinding me once more. "Why ask me, Dean? I don't know. All I know that is…"

"Know what, Jeanie? What do you know?"

I could not tell my brother the truth in my mind, knowing that I'll be agreeing with him, knowing that I'll be standing down from my stubborn stance: knowing that he was going to die.

"I don't know anymore, Dean." I sighed, showing him my tears to him for the first time in almost two weeks. "I love you, Dean."

"Hey, I love you, too, little sister. Oh, Jesus, don't cry again. Don't cry, Jeanie. Don't cry."

"I can't help it." I sniffled.

"I don't want nose drip on my sheets and blankets. You're _so_ bad."

Even when he was unwell, Dean was joking. _He was joking._

"I know, older brother." I wiped away my tears and nose once more. "It'll take more than a blanket to clean me up if I don't stop and look at the stars."

"Henry said that. He said that a long time ago. How did you remember that?"

"I don't know. I pulled it out of my mind, like everything else. Dammit, Dean. I can't help but think of Henry. I haven't ever since he died. I love him so much. I miss him."

A tear, such a rare one at that, came down Dean's face. "I think of him, too." He paused, shaking his head, as if the tear was of no consequence. "And now, he's part of the stars."

"If you want to think about it that way," I only replied, smiling through my sadness. "We all can be part of the stars when we go."


	17. A Brave Man Once Requested Me

The next morning, before I woke up, he was gone. He went out with the stars, before the morning was out, walking out hand-in-hand with the Grim Reaper as he came to claim what was his. Dean was gone.

I woke holding onto a cold hand tightly, B.J. and Hawkeye looking at me sadly as I opened my eyes to the world. Hawkeye came over to me and gently pried my hand from Dean's (I didn't even protest, knowing the truth in an instant), holding mine: cold, clammy and still smelling like Dean. He then pulled the blanket over my brother's head, his blue eyes shining and red-rimmed, as if he had been crying for just as long as I had been.

My Love had been crying. He was grieving as I was.

B.J. also came over, helping Hawkeye get me up from the chair I had been sitting on for days on and off without thinking of getting up most of the time. Their hushed tones over my head, as they dragged me out of Post-Op into another cloudy, cold day, said something of showers, eating, changing my clothes and resting in the Swamp. Margaret then came before them as we three walked past the Swamp (the two of them holding me up as I walked without meaning, without thought) and took over from there. Taking me from the Swampmen, she, too, held me up with all her weight. She walked me to the showers, a change of my clothes in her other arm, and talked, too, but I could not hear words. I was deaf.

Warm water hit me in the face after Margaret got me into the tent and undressed and pushed me into a slippery stall, the cold even not registering with me as the wind blew into the tent's Tom peeping holes. I woke up in a way, realizing the world around me and thinking about how it seemed the same, even though my brother was dead. Everybody was working, the world turned as always, just the same, and yet…my brother was dead. It was a normal day here and yet…_my brother was dead._

"Jeanie, I'm so sorry. If you need anything else, I'll be outside. Just call." Margaret's eyes were concerned, sad even, as she hung my clothes up on a hook.

_Is she even real? Is this another dream?_

I said nothing, but took a soap bar, scrubbing away my brother's smell, reluctant to let him go, the last time I touched him, dead or alive. _I can't. I couldn't. I just couldn't do it._ And yet, I had to. I had to shower away his once-warm hand, holding onto mine, last talking about the stars and Henry. Those were his last words to me before I drifted to sleep. It had been about stars and how we all could be them when we died. We even talked of death and how he was not quite ready to go, but he knew that had to do.

_Dean was prepared to go, though. He knew that the family curse was going to catch up to him someday, even though his cockiness in the last war made him so sure that he was going to be the first generation to live on. And look, low and behold, there's Colonel Coner, who kills off his men, one by one. He killed my brother, hopefully the last of the 43rd to go._

Water could not cleanse my body this time. It cleaned me off physically, but mentally, I could not be cleaned. I was dirty once more. I had sinned. I was dirty.

I quickly toweled myself off when I was finished – normal as could be – and changed into my uniform, bundling myself up against the cold as I walked out the door, my semi-wet hair bound under the hat. It was cold outside, but I could not feel it.

I could not ward off the cold in my mind, though. My tears were solid. They could not come down. I was as numb as the day B.J. told me the news, the reality. It seemed like _years_ ago that I was told that my brother might not live because Colonel Coner had shot him several times and left him out in the cold wilderness for days before being found by a soldier walking along the woods, trying to patrol the area, making sure that it was free of the enemy.

But, I knew that enemies were everywhere. They could be what your government says they are or domestic, shooting people for ambition.

I walked into Post-Op again, without thinking, seeing Charles on a shift. I then looked to where Dean had been, but the bed was empty, new sheets, pillows and blankets covering up the misdeed. No soldier was there at the moment, sleeping and resting after being wounded, weary of the battles that the war had handed him.

It was as if Dean was not there, like he had not existed. He was _gone_.

Charles saw me as he signed something on a patient's clipboard and signaled to Kellye to keep an eye on that one patient in particular. Then, he came to me as I stood there – empty in heart and not knowing what to do with myself – and took my hands gently, with compassion.

"Jeanie, I'm so sorry to hear about your brother's untimely death," he said gently.

"Thank you, Charles," I replied, the first words I had said all day.

"He was a good man. He did not deserve the atrocity that was given to him. The only great consultation is perhaps that his murderer is now on trial in Seoul."

"Maybe it is." My words seemed to hallow, without meaning at all…as if nothing mattered anymore. I should be rejoicing, knowing that Dean's report had done something and that Colonel Coner was on trial, but even that bit of news gave me nothing.

_What did this all mean? Did something of mine die along with Dean?_

Colonel Potter came into Post-Op suddenly and saw me as well. Bundled up against the cold, Klinger behind him with paperwork, he, too, came up to me. Charles excusing himself to check on the other patients, the Colonel was finally allowed to talk to me, hand me more papers to sign as Klinger passed them to him. There was the death certificate (cause of death was pneumonia and secondary, chest wounds), grave registry and even a telegram, to be delivered to my mother. My father already heard the news, so I've heard.

I knew, as I signed them, how grieved the both of them would be. Dean may have been the favorite out of the two of us (beaten as he was), but he hated the way he was treated as such and even kept away from our family as much as he could. Our mother and stepfather were less nasty to him than to me, but our father talked to him the most, thinking that they were two of a kind, on the same side. They worked together in Munsan and talked many times, their regiment units side-by-side as they fought. They had different ideas about war, but it was all the same. War was the _same_.

"Your father, the General, is coming to see you tomorrow." Colonel Potter hugged me after I handed the paperwork back to Klinger, who ran off in the opposite direction. "Father Mulcahy offered a memorial service, since most of the camp knew him."

"I'll do the eulogy," I offered softly, words I could not hear, seeming to come from a different person…not _me_. I could not have said those words.

Colonel Potter looked at me, startled for a second. "If you're up to it, Jeanie, then do it."

"Thank you, Sir." I had no other words to say.

Colonel Potter let me go and led me by the hand past Post-Op and into his office, where he let go of my hand, sat down and told me to do the same. I seated myself, obeying his every silent command, searching into his eyes for something, _anything_ that would comfort me, but I saw nothing but a parental need to do something for me. He knew things I did not. He's been through just as many wars as my father except _he_ was not heartless. Colonel Potter had more heart in his than my own father did.

After pouring two glasses of whiskey without me noticing, Colonel Potter handed me the dark, offending liquid and raised his glass. "To your brother, Major Dean Patrick Morrison: he was a good man. He did his job well. I just hope justice is served."

"To my brother," I echoed.

We _clicked_ our glasses and drank. The hard liquor hit my throat bitterly, but I didn't cough as I swallowed it quickly. It soothed me in some way, took away some of the pain I held deep inside of me. _But it could not take it all away. _It was still there when the alcohol made its rounds around my system. I needed more to make it better…

I took a second glass when it was offered and drank again, another gulp that almost took the pain of the memory of his death away, B.J. and Hawkeye picking up and practically carrying me away to the showers, where Margaret took over. The third given to me numbed my mind from the pain completely, making it harder to believe that Dean was dead

_He has to be alive. He's alive somewhere! They're playing with me!_

When I put my glass down for another pour, Colonel Potter put the bottle away in his cabinet, locking it behind him. "I think that's enough for now, Jeanie," he said, taking my glass away as well. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, Sir." My words seemed a little slurred and yet, _it was not me._

The Colonel got up, standing next to me as he put a fatherly hand on my shoulder. "Go to the Swamp. Rest. If you want, I'll handle your father tomorrow –"

"No, Sir, I can do it. I can handle him."

Colonel Potter was startled, jarred by my words, sighing. "If you want to, Jeanie, it's up to you. God knows you've been through enough already."

"Thank you, Sir."

I stood up, walking out the doors of his office without my dismissal, without as much as a simple farewell and a thank you to the Colonel. But I think he understood. I also think he knew how much I appreciated his love, his protection and his concern. He was almost like the father that Henry Blake was to me. And I loved him for it.

As I walked back to the Swamp slowly, faces blurred before my eyes. I opened the door to my sloppy quarters and found my corner in the blanketed pigsty with none of the Swampmen in sight, which relieved me in some way. Then, before I could fix the blankets and hide once more, I saw Henry, walking around the tent slowly, his hands behind his back. As my eyes watched him go around and around, I noticed how sad he looked, as if he could feel my numbing pain and could do nothing about it. Then, he disappeared from my sight, giving me one last look as I moved the blankets into place and entered my domain, my shelter: my Korean hellhole of a home.

My belongings were still scattered from the time I searched for my loneliness, my poem, and everything was as it was when the wounded came, when Dean came back to us alive (_he was alive then!_). I stepped over them gingerly, careful as I could ever be, and laid down on my cot, thinking of the night before and Dean speaking his last words to me before I stupidly went so sleep. We talked of the stars, Henry Blake and even something about Shakespeare.

_Is it to be or not to be?_ It was something like that, I think. It was _The Tragedy of Hamlet_ all over again. Or, is it? _Is it to be or not to be?_

Suddenly, as I smuggled under a blanket, as if to sleep the sleep of death, I sat up, knowing, as if a light bulb had just been turned on. I knew how to end the poem, the last lines of a saga that could be something and could be nothing.

I got up quickly and dig through my things until I found the abandoned papers next to my footlocker. Shaking, I took a pen out from under my mess of things, trying to write the last verse. It took a while to scribble it in, since the ink seemed to have frozen from the cold, but I finally got it to work. I got it to work and it was finished at long last.

_A brave man once requested me  
To answer questions that are key  
"Is it to be or not to be?"  
And I replied "Oh, why ask me?"_

_Suicide is painless  
It brings on many changes  
and I can take or leave it  
If I please…_

_And you can do the same thing_  
_If you please…_


	18. Walking in Space

I don't know how long I slept after collapsing in the Swamp. After writing those words, I fell into a deep, freezing sleep, not knowing time and space. I dreamed forgettable things, never remembering what came between me and my mind, feeling like I was walking in space and not really knowing where I was or what I was doing. Who_ could _know?

I woke up to Klinger shaking my shoulders frantically. It was dark outside. I had no idea what time it was, since it became night so early in the wintertime, and almost fell back asleep. However, Klinger wasn't going to give up. He sighed and then shook me more as I was lying on the floor, my hands still holding onto the papers that kept me sane, the poem of something and nothing. The rude scribbles of the last lines were still stone on the paper.

"Captain, come on, wake up. Call from the States for you. It's your mother from good old Bloomington, Illinois."

Klinger's obnoxious coat – as well as his nose – finally filled my blurry eyesight, a pitiful face dripping pale, cold icicles. Even his nose seemed to be full of icicles, too.

"No!" I yelled, realizing what it all meant as everything came back to me. Reality poured right back into my mind. "She knows! Oh, God, she knows." I was moaning.

"Hey, can we keep the war down?" B.J. asked again from his cot.

"She can't help it, Beej," Hawkeye replied for me from his cot. "It's her mother."

"And all mothers are fu –"

"I think this is urgent, Captain," Klinger nudged me again, helping me up as my limbs felt so stiff and feeling like ice. They needed to be broken through and worked on.

I didn't said word in the meantime, ignoring yet another argument between my bunkmates, the three Swampmen. Getting up with Klinger, I braced myself for the cold (I was bundled up enough from earlier in the day, if my sense of time was correct) and walked out of the Swamp's door. I practically ran with the former camp cross dresser to his office space as the cold whipped into our clothes' cracks, where the phone call from my mother awaited me.

My mother had not called me in a long time (I want to say it's been over a year). I considered it a simple grace, a gift from whoever is up there, but this time, I had no choice. I had to talk to her, no matter how much I want her to go away and disappear.

"Mrs. Lowes? Yes, she's here. Hold on." Klinger handed me the phone, his hand over the mouthpiece, and gave up his seat for me. "Here, Captain. Good luck. She's a loon. I can tell."

"Gee, thanks, Klinger," I replied somewhat sarcastically as I, too, held the phone shut so that Mom would not hear the conversation. Then, I put it to my ear and said, "Hi, Mom."

"You lying, cheating whore! You killed your brother!" Mom's hysterical voice and sobs filled my ears, making me pull the phone away from my ear for a moment as she yelled more names through the line. I thought that I was going to wake up the wounded soldiers in the next room with her screaming so loud, but I heard no complaints. However, I could not yell back.

"Mom, listen, we have limited time and you _will_ be cut off if you continue to talk like that." As always, I played the adult in the conversation and tried to calm her down, forgetting my own feelings in the situation. "Dean was killed by somebody else, Mom. He was murdered."

"Yes, by you! You killed your brother and you will _burn_ in _hell_ for it! First, you cause us so much grief with your unchristian life and your lifestyle. You had that damned little bastard you called by a name –"

"She has a name, Mom and it is Shannon! She's your _granddaughter_, whether or not you like it."

"She cost us money, Jeanette, and now, she's with that bastard in Boston. I'm glad. I'm _very_ glad. Good riddance to her. I know that she'll die of an incurable disease. I prayed for it daily from God. He told me himself that your nasty little _bastard_ will die. Jesus Christ will make sure of it. And so will you, Jeanette. You're like your father, that man I thought that I married for love, but tricked me into the most dangerous game. He was _nothing_ like Clarence, who provided for this family like he _never_ would. Damn you, Jeanette Karen Morrison! Damn you and your life! You killed your brother with your careless, heathen hands, just like your father would have done if he was in your place!"

Sparky, out on the third line, reminded us that our time was almost up. I had another minute to go before the lines went dead and I was disconnected. But I could not talk when my mother just cursed me and Shannon to hell and was sobbing with grief. She was on the verge of insanity for real. She was about to crack and send her own self to the grave. I knew it.

"Mom, I have to go –" I started before I was interrupted again.

"Then go, you ungrateful little girl! Go to hell, for all I care! I have prayed for your soul daily and now, I cannot. You have _murdered_, Jeanette. And God does not permit _murderers_ into the Kingdom of Heaven."

Before I could reply to her – cry out in the unfairness of it all and deny all of it – the line went dead, with Sparky's apologies. Then, there was silence, a deathly silence that reminded me of images, of graves and darkness, the family curse binding us together and –

"Captain, are you ok? Hello, Captain? Earth to Captain Morrison…?"

Klinger was still there, faithful Klinger. He stood beside me during the whole conversation and was still there when I dropped the phone after the silence came into my ears, putting my head into my hands. I wanted to cry, but could not. My tears were still dried up.

"I-I-I don't kn-know!" I stuttered as a reply, banging my head against the desk and _wanting_ to cry, to scream out my frustrations, but I didn't. My well full of sadness remained on the bottom. The water could not be pulled up, no matter _what_ I did or thought .

"Aww, Captain, come here." Klinger spun the chair around and hugged me, letting me snuggle against the warmth of his God-awful coat. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"I am, too. Damn my –"

"Shush, Captain. There are wounded in the next room, remember?"

"Jesus Christ, Klinger…"

"I'm right, though, aren't I?"

"Yes, Klinger, you usually are, despite your con artist schemes and plans. Thanks for the hug. I think I needed it after talking to Mom like that. She's just as loony as the people here, you know? Well, except maybe she's a little crazier. At least, the people here don't try to commit suicide and blame everything on one person and hide behind religion."

Klinger let me go to look down at me in the face, serious as could be. "My uncle used to have a wife like that. She was some Lebanese Christian woman. Read her Bible everyday and even quoted it at him all the time. Damned him to hell if he didn't go to church with her and she even damned him when he went to Paco's for lunch after the Mass. She didn't believe in hot dogs and thought that they were God's punishment to us for sinning and that sinning men always ate them."

"What happened to her?" I needed to smile.

"She died. Blew up, my uncle said. No explosives or anything, just _exploded_ during the night while he out having a beer. Made him happy because he loved another woman and wanted to marry her."

I giggled, the first time I had felt _something _in a long time. "Spontaneous combustion? Klinger, that's a myth. There's no such thing as that. You should know that no human _alive_ can just do that."

"_Oh_, really now, Captain? Then, how do you explain my aunt's body torn into little pieces, like something went off inside of her, like a ticking time bomb?"

"Bad gas?" I suggested, smiling. Then, I remembered what had happened – forgetting, for a few precious moments that my brother was dead – and almost cried with shame. I was _joking_ around in a time like this and was ashamed.

_But, would Dean have wanted me to grief forever? No, never in a million years, but it won't stop me from doing it. I miss him so much!_

Klinger saw this and put his hand on my shoulder, as if to comfort me. "Go back to bed, Jeanie. You'll need to rest. We'll have wounded before long, probably before your father comes here. Some operation has been done on some hill by the 31st Infantry. We'll have men here before long."

"Who says?" I asked, worried. _More men are dying, just like Dean._

"I-Corp sent it in before Colonel Potter went on shift. If you want more details, he has them in the next room. You can ask him."

Silence reigned for a few moments, reality settling into my mind again as yet another battle raged outside and in my mind. _Was it all true? The war is still on. Dean is dead. More men are dying. The peace talks are not within sight. Peace is _never_ within sight. Jesus, I might be here forever, for all I know. I might see more life ebb away from me. I might not see my mother again, or my daughter or Trapper or –_

I got up from the chair and turned to go to the door as my thoughts ran wild, wanting to get to sleep before the wounded come in, but Klinger stopped me with a question as I tried to walk away. "Jeanie, do you happen to remember what I told you once, just before your daughter was born?"

I stopped at the door and turned around, waiting patiently for what he wanted to say. I could not remember.

"We're still not here to make a quick exit, Ma'am. We're still here. It's still hell here in Korea. And it only gets worse."

"And I think it got to the bottom of the pot with me already," I replied quietly, with as much dignity as I could muster, and headed out the door. I went out into the cold, where death and despair waited for me, biting into my skin again as I walked back to the Swamp.


	19. Raw Wounds

Colonel Potter, Hawkeye, B.J., Klinger, Charles, Father Mulcahy and Margaret stood alongside me the next morning as we waited for my father's jeep to roll into camp. Dimly, as we stood out in the cold, I remembered the last time he came to the 4077th. Henry had been alive, Frank was second-in-command of the camp, Radar was running amongst us, Major Simmons was still a doctor and not a rapist, my daughter was yet to be born and Hawkeye had not cheated on me with Margaret. Things had changed since then and yet…they seemed better. My friends were around me. They were there to care for me. They were all there for me when I needed it. But, they still could not figure out how deep the grief was, how afraid I was of everything now, how _deeply_ resentful I was to God, who I actually put some faith and belief into and "He" failed me. _They shouldn't know._

Margaret was next to me, shivering. "Are you ok, Jeanie?" she asked for the millionth time in over two weeks.

"I guess so." My lips seemed frozen by the cold.

"When is he coming, Captain? My fanny is getting as frozen as Hannibal's central lake." Colonel Potter complained and smiled, trying to figure out why my father was running late, as he always was likely to do.

"I don't know, Sir," I replied carefully. "Maybe he's stuck in some traffic."

"Some bridges were reported to have been blown up by the Chinese," Klinger reported.

"London Bridge is falling down," Hawkeye added right behind him.

"How many times can it fall down?" B.J. asked.

"I don't know, folks, but it looks like it could stand another explosion," Hawkeye replied, such silliness out of his mouth: the same mouth that kissed me, nibbled on my ears and spoke words of reassurance to me for many nights.

"Do you know if he is he coming to the memorial service later on this evening?" Father Mulcahy asked, mostly directed to me.

"I don't know with him, Padre." My lips were still frozen. "I don't know what he believes in anymore."

"Well, you know that I can conform to any religion that is comfortable with the both of you," he replied to me, smiling and giving me silent reassurance in this great catastrophe. "I've done more than Catholic Masses."

"If he still keeps that bottle in his Bible," Hawkeye blurted out.

I shot Hawkeye a menacing as Father Mulcahy muttered an exclamation of dismay, mentally telling Hawkeye to shut his mouth.

"Come on and behave now, little children," Charles muttered as the remaining two Swampmen snickered behind their hands suddenly. "This imbecile man had better be worth the wait in this insufferable cold and misery."

"Can it, Winchester. If we're all freezing our fannies out here, waiting for General Morrison, then you can, too." Colonel Potter was sounding more irritated by the minute by the complaining from Charles. After all, the Major was always complaining about something and would not shut up about leaving or his superior skills, surgical and otherwise.

"I will _not_ stand for –"

"He's coming, Sirs!" Klinger interrupted, before another argument broke out.

And yes, sweet Jesus, Klinger was right: my father was coming to the camp. Driving a jeep by himself, not caring about the enemy fire he could have run into on the way to the 4077th (or even considering a scared driver, like last time) he swerved around a few obstacles – Korean families, rocks, signs, personal from the camp and even some drunks – and drove angrily to where we were. He then braked suddenly and with such ceremony that we all had to cringe at the entry.

We all saluted (well, B.J. and Hawkeye weren't really saluting, but wiggling their fingers mockingly) and waited until Daddy parked in front of us. Killing the engine to the jeep quickly, he stood up stiffly in his seat and saluted back, giving us permission to stand at attention for him as he greeted us. Then, just as planned (as always), he jumped out of the jeep, as if he wasn't nearly seventy years old, and went to Colonel Potter first, our C.O.

"Colonel, it's a pleasure to see you again," Daddy said, shaking hands with Colonel Potter. "How was that still on Guam doing?"

"Blew up into smithereens, if you remember correctly," Colonel Potter laughed. "It was how I got my Purple Heart!"

Daddy laughed as well, realizing something we could not understand. "Well, we all can't be heroes, I guess."

Then, my father went down the line of people, greeting them as they talked with him. All offered condolences on Dean's death and he accepted them graciously, as if the grief was not bothering him or hitting him too hard. B.J. and Hawkeye were even solemn, saying how much they missed him, especially drinking and joking around in the Swamp. Charles was formal, brief and even full of such concern, claiming that my brother was an inspiration to the unit. Father Mulcahy quoted Scripture, giving my father beautiful words about Dean. Margaret was full of sympathy and gave my father some small comfort that even made him smile weakly. Klinger saluted first and then muttered his apologies about my brother and our great loss: to his family (us), the 4077th and the 43rd.

Then, it was my turn. Daddy came up to me and looked at straight in the eyes, the same grey eyes looking into mine, the other half of a whole that was now broken. They flashed anger, disbelief and even sorrow at me. His mouth – so white, unshaven and wrinkled a little – moved to form words at me, words he could not say to me for over two years. Two years ago, when Henry was alive and I was not a mother, he almost choked me to death, said I was another joker amongst the two Swampmen and even talked with me honestly after my Supply Room visit with Hawkeye.

That day, Daddy stood before me, without words and only emotions behind the windows of his soul. He could only stare at me with through those windows, wondering what I did wrong to his youngest son.

"Sir?" I asked meekly, saluting and standing in attention for him.

"Daughter, I can't believe you."

These were the first words Daddy said to me that day before all hell broke loose – January 25, 1953, two days after Dean had died. They kept running through my mind: soft, deadly, almost emotionless even. Then, afterward, just like that, after he spoke his peace to me, he slapped me hard across the face, hard enough to knock me to the icy ground.

Noise, yelling and even bickering broke out before me, but I was not paying attention. On the muddy, icy ground – without any clue of what was going on above me – I only paid attention to the eerie, high-pitched noise in my own ears. I wanted to get up to investigate it, to see what was making that noise, but I could not. I was immobile, being kicked in the abdomen. Blood rocked back and forth in my mouth. I coughed hard and choking on it from my lungs to my mouth. My head hit a rock. My eyes rolled back and tried to get back into focus, but could not, _dared_ not to.

"Get that damned _whore_ out of my sight!" Daddy yelled, kicking me harder. "To hell with this bitch I have to call a daughter!"

I closed my eyes to the chaos, seeing only darkness and a line of people, like the people lined up for a firing squad. When I tried to see who the people were, their faces came closer to me, as if observing what was going on. They – three of them – lined up around me, like a circle around a dead body, and whispered about me behind their hands, as if I didn't know who they all were and what they were saying.

_Jesus, say something! Help me!_ But they could not talk to me, nor could they listen to me. Three of them came closer, to show themselves, and smiled, beckoning to me to keep going, not to give up…but also gesturing that I could not follow them.

After all, they were all dead. Falk, Henry and Dean were dead.

Outside, outside the sphere of darkness, shadows and dead people, I could barely hear the choppers flying overhead, the party of feet stomping to get to the wounded that arrived late and the stroking of my face, gentle and graceful. The attacks had stopped for the time being and somebody was comforting me. I was saved by the wounded. I had to go to the light – watching those faces and circles disappear from around me – and work once more. I could not afford to be wounded myself.

"Attention, attention, all personnel: while we give our full attention and welcome to General Patrick Morrison, we must also regret to inform him of the wounded on the compound. Choppers are on the pad!"


	20. A Slow Recovery

I had been laid up for over a month after that incident.

I went through surgery as Daddy watched from behind the doors without coming into the O.R. (he left after an hour into the session) and stood through seven hours of hell. The load was light. I could handle it. But after Hawkeye got me up from the ground, making sure that I could stand on my own two feet, he saw the damage and almost took care of me himself. I looked and felt _horrible_. I was still spitting up blood, my head sported a nice bruise and my ribs felt like they were on fire, broken into a million pieces.

I wanted to get the wounded handled first before _anybody _looked at me. I didn't crave attention or wanted anybody babying me when there were dying men out there. I stood steady for a while to prove my point, seeing dead soldiers and Korean villagers passing before my eyes. I played my part as a nurse as my lips swelled, breathing in gasps. My white gown even turned red a few times.

Colonel Potter, who I was assisting, asked me to change every time I had the chance to (which was often) and asked me time and again if I needed to lay down and rest (I told him that I was fine and got a shoulder shrug, which was rare from the Colonel). Finally, he asked me if I could play the blood donor quickly. I did, at the end of the session, and then was released.

I was the first person out of the doors of the O.R. without a shift in sight. I was not assigned one, so I had time alone in the Swamp. I could be alone. I didn't have the time to grieve for Dean yet. His body has disappeared as soon as I signed the grave registry papers, the truck arriving to pick him up as I slept a deep slumber before my mother called me. I didn't have the time to say goodbye to him. I didn't even try to cry out my dry tears as the truck rolled away, his dead, white body motionless, almost looking like he was going to jump out and tell me that it was all a joke, that we should put it in the book of jokes and sarcastic comments we created and brought to Korea. I didn't have the_ time_ to think about the times we had, the memories I shared with him, now drifting into a place I could not imagine.

I opened the door to the Swamp, knowing how tired and hurt I was. The day was finally catching up to me: grief for my brother set aside for some time, my father beating me when he saw me and the wounded coming in. I played the sister, daughter, nurse and donor. I could not stand it anymore. I was tired of being all of them and more, only wanting to laugh and hear Dean's voice as I flipped through our book of jokes and comments, left with me in the Swamp.

_Was it bad enough that I was seeing ghosts everywhere I went, even in my dreams?_ I could not stand to see them anymore, especially when I wanted to sleep.

All I wanted to do was walk to my cot and sleep. I could step over everything in the tent, even walk normally in Charles' unusually tidy corner. But I didn't realize how seriously hurt I was, ignoring the doctors' subtle hints about resting and waiting for them to be finished if I was that stubborn. Sure, I coughed up some blood and took as if I had a cold. It was dangerous, especially in the O.R., but I had more important things to think about. My timing was not perfect, as always.

Charles found me on Hawkeye's side of the Swamp, clutching the last letter Trapper had sent me, some words of encouragement and how my brother could get through anything, even being wounded: words written before the news of his death came to him. I had passed out from a loss of blood myself, hanging onto words of endearment and pictures of my daughter, the last that Trapper took of Shannon. He and Louise, the couple who could not divorce but argue, had just lost custody of my daughter. Someone else had her in their care and I didn't know who it was just yet. Flagg had not told me yet. All I could hope for was that the people who had my daughter were loving and caring and would keep her safe from danger.

~00~

Early in March, when I was about ready to become more mobile and could walk on my own (the Swamp, its inhabitants and even the stink were annoying me, even when I was alone), I had a visitor as I was frequenting the Officers' Club once more, the first time since Henry had died. I half-expected him to come in and visit me, to talk to me like we did the year before, but things had changed since then and the circumstances are turned once more, _different_. He knew of what happened to Dean, gave me some time to be alone and came back into my life again, as if the events of the year before had not happened. I was his patient again, a friend sometimes as we talked.

"I figured I'd find you here again." Sidney Freedman sat down with me at a table, the unusual warm weather coming in through the open doors as I sipped my gin. "Hawkeye said you came here more often than being at Rosie's. The still is down, apparently. Supplies for it have dwindled, I was told."

"Rosie's Bar reminds me of too much," I simply replied, taking another sip.

"Why? You enjoyed it there. You used to go there often, laugh with the other soldiers, hang out and come back to camp drunk most of the time."

"I guess it reminds me of my brother too much. We used to go there a lot, when we both had the time. He suggested that I go there and carried me out the first time, remember? I heard the news that he was missing when I was drinking in there, thinking about Falk and our last night together. I guess that was the last time I was there. I think it was."

"I'm so sorry to hear about Dean, Jeanie. He was a good man."

I grimaced. I had given myself time and space (as well as the others, who thought I was going crazy with grief silently, the memorial service cancelled) and made a shield against the realities of my brother's death. Sure, Colonel Coner, stripped of his military titles and convicted of murder, was going to hang later in the month. My brother was good and buried in Bloomington along with my other relatives and even Henry. Mom stopped calling me (she did it for a while) and would not stop writing to me about Dean dying and how it was my fault. But I never cried. I held it all in, wishing it to all go away. And, in time, with space, it did. It all went _away_.

However, I knew how dangerous it was to bottle everything inside. I _knew_, above all, how dangerous it was to pretend to be happy and die inside.

"He was," I agreed quietly, sipping again. It was a pattern: talk, sip, talk, sip.

_Was it to be always continual, though?_

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sidney asked me, treading into some dangerous waters.

I sighed. "Justice is served, Sidney. The 43rd has another worthy commander leading them at the Front Lines. They are not coming back to play guard at the 4077th anymore, thanks to Colonel Coner and his idiotic reports. The murderer of my brother is going to hang. Dean is dead. What else is there to really talk about?"

"How is your daughter, then?" Sidney changed the topic carefully, looking like he wanted to talk about Dean later, though. "I heard that Colonel Flagg placed her in another home."

"And I don't know where yet, Sidney! I was told that Trapper had her and then he didn't. He's in mourning about Dean and so distraught that he can't tell me what happened. So now, my daughter is out of his hands and he can do nothing about it, grieving harder because he lost a girl he considered to be his own flesh and blood. I've had no letters from the next caretaker and I don't know where to send my letters and money to. I have five hundred dollars to give to the person who is taking her of now, money for the month. Jesus, I want something to come out of her being here, for me giving her _life_. Trapper started a college fund in her name, but I don't know what became of it."

"Does Hawkeye know that he's a proud father? Or, is he the father?"

Sidney peered at me, trying to see how I would react to the news that spread in some parts of the camp when Colonel Potter got some news from Seoul. It came in the form of Colonel Flagg's official paperwork about his little custody meeting in Seoul. The Colonel would not tell me about it, though.

"I have yet to talk to Hawkeye about it yet. Every time I do, he gets angry, like it's his fault it all happened and my fault that I was reminding him of it. Then, he cheated on me on someone I consider to be a friend. He went after someone else in duress and I feel guilty about it. Things were not the same for a while. We're engaged still. Granted, I forgave them both, but it still bothers me once in a great while, especially when he gets all flustered about nothing, like about the baby."

"Maybe he's not ready? After all, he used to be the camp's main womanizer."

This was starting to turn into a conversation between friends and not doctor to patient all of a sudden. "I don't know, Sidney. He doesn't want to talk about Shannon, or see her pictures, or anything. B.J. usually takes that honor, showing me pictures of Erin. It's kind of like 'You show me yours and I'll show you mine'."

"Well, if Shannon is being shipped to another home until you pick her up, don't you think you should discuss options with Hawkeye? He might be open to helping you. Jeanie, if he loves you like he should, like he says he does, then he might be more than willing to help you. However, if he's angry like that, then maybe he's scared about being a parent or watching the one person he loves go through so much by herself. Even _if_ it was another person's child, wouldn't he take care of her?"

"You make too much sense." I sipped my gin again.

Sidney grinned. "That's what I'm here for."

I put my hand over Sidney's, being the friend he always was to me. "I finished the poem, you know. Something I wrote when I was with you. I finished it. I never told you about it, but I thought that you might want to know."

"I knew about it, Jeanie. Word travels fasts here."

"My brother inspired it. The last conversation we had together talked about reality, stars, the afterlife, ghosts and what we saw. I've been seeing ghosts, Sidney. Ever since I started seeing Henry back in the autumn on the bus with the wounded, I've seen them everywhere. Sometimes, old Henry would be walking around the camp. Or, I'll see Falk in my dreams or when I pass out. Dean…Dean, I saw once, when my father was beating me. I think I even saw Hawkeye's mother on a beach."

Sidney just took grip of my hand as I shook my head.

"I don't know anymore," I continued, admitting it all. "The mail has been slow lately, so I've been waiting news of my daughter and what happened to her, but it's been over a month now. My mother doesn't write much to me anymore, although I had multiple letters from her everyday for a while. She's called me the whore so many times now that I don't care anymore."

"Hopefully, the mail will come sooner," Sidney said, real wistfulness in his voice.

"I take it your family has not written, either?"

"Either that, or the Army is holding it all back."

We laughed, as friends always do. Sidney had a wife and a son in the States, so he always had that little something – like B.J. – to hold onto when things were tough. I could not remember their names for the life of me, but I knew that he held them in his heart, missing them dreadfully.

"I think the Army is holding everything up, including this war," I finally said after a lengthy silence. "I heard the peace talks are on again, as they've always been for the past two years. And then, there's life at the 4077th, which goes on here as usual. Oh, and did I tell you that the O.R. has a new floor? Margaret had successfully put another man in his place, some Italian solider who was here for a spell, pretending that Charles was her lover. Klinger isn't trying to get out of the Army as much anymore, even though he tried signing on for more years after the news his ex-wife sent him."

Sidney nodded. "In other words, for you, it's just another walk in the park?"

"Yeah, sure it is." I downed the last of my gin in one gulp, trying to sound detached, indifferent as I replied, but failing miserably as I choked down my words. "The only difference is that my daughter is M.I.A., Hawkeye apparently is angry about something and Dean is dead."

Sidney only gripped my hand tighter. As a friend, he said to me, "You'll get through this."

"Don't I always?" I laughed, as if it was all a silly joke, and ordered more gin from the bartender of the day (Igor). Sidney also ordered himself something and together we sat there, in total silence for a while, understanding each other perfectly well.

And yet, I still have not cried.


	21. This Isn't Fair!

I didn't approach Hawkeye yet about Shannon because of how busy the two of us had been since Sidney's week visit. I meant to, thinking that maybe Sidney was right about Hawkeye. He was too scared about something and it made him angry because he had no control over it (also known as: scared because I was raped and impregnated and had no idea who the father is and where the child is bounced to next, which are all out of his control). In that week, every time I thought about it as Margaret and I giggled long into the night as we bunked in her tent, it became true in my mind. I mean, every time I wanted to share with Hawkeye my daughter – that piece of home, that piece of sanity I hold onto – he's defensive, hiding something from me. He beats around the bush when I ask him his opinions on this and that, like what the baby should be eating (Louise asking me) or how she should be disciplined. He's given me no clue as to whether or not he thinks Shannon_ is_ his daughter.

A week after my conversation with Sidney at the Officers' Club, I saw the Major himself exit the Swamp (I watched from Margaret's tent windows) and go into Colonel Potter's office, as if to talk with the C.O. himself. As I snuck out of Margaret's tent to spy on him (hiding around our basketball court), I saw Sidney come out, going back to the Swamp quickly (as if in a run), which made me jump and hide in a corner of the Head Nurse's quarters, to watch and learn what was going on.

It took a few minutes of bantering in the Swamp between Sidney and somebody in there (Hawkeye, I wanted to guess), but something was up. Afterward, with Sidney looking satisfied, Hawkeye came out in nothing but his open bathrobe, shorts, shirt and boots and went into Colonel Potter's office. A little while later, he came out pale, shaking. Tying up his bathrobe, he went back into the Swamp, lying back down on his cot and covering his face, as if he was sick. He didn't even move an inch.

I then had to know what was going on, although I had an idea of what it was. Throwing caution to the wind and tired of playing the spy again, I ran into the office building. There, I met Klinger (thank God I saw him first!), who was typing out a report on the desk.

"What went on in there?" I asked him, pointing to the doors of Colonel Potter's office, hearing his voice and another's argue over something.

"I'm not supposed to say anything, Captain," Klinger replied quietly as he continued to type, without looking at me. "Whatever went on in there is confidential. So, you better quiet yourself down and leave it alone."

I went over to the company clerk and put a hand on his shoulder, leaning in _just so_ to talk just in his ears, saying, "Look, Klinger, I need to know. Sidney went in there and then had Hawkeye walk in. Hawkeye came back pale, like something had shocked him, something that really got to him. Did something happen in there? Am I missing something that the whole camp knows? Does it have to do with the reports that Colonel Flagg sent to our C.O. in the next room?"

Klinger looked at the double doors and then back at me as he stopped typing. "Ok, ok, Jeanie, you've got me," he said quickly, albeit softly. "Follow me."

Getting up (and throwing me off balance almost), we both went through the doors to Post-Op, but instead of seeing the patients or who was on duty there, Klinger took me in the opposite direction: to the examination rooms in Pre-Op (privacy, I figured). After making sure that nobody was in the x-ray room (other rooms being used), Klinger and I entered quietly, the darkness shrouding us in secrecy as he closed the door behind us.

In a hushed tone as he took me to a corner of the room, the clerk warned me, "You better not say that I said this, Jeanie."

"Jesus, Klinger, I'm sworn to secrecy. Cross my heart and hope to die. Who can I tell? Now, tell me what's up!" I even did a silly pinky promise with Klinger (who was amused and did it back at me), something I had last done with Dean when we were maybe ten years old, about the time Lorraine and Henry Blake came into our lives.

_Jesus, twenty years later and I'm here and Dean is dead of the same disease: Korea._

Klinger hesitated and then told me, "Potter's report was – well, Flagg's reaction was – I mean, the rumors around the camp were true. Captain Pierce is a father."

My breath seemed like it blew right out of me. I gasped, trying to catch some air, and succeeded to some extent. I then held in my breath, trembling with anticipating, willing Klinger to continue and to tell me more.

Klinger did so, thank God. "Major Freedman just wanted Colonel Potter to tell Hawkeye the news. I guess he talked with you at the Officers' Club about Shannon and was curious. Potter wasn't obligated to keep it a big state secret or something, but he felt like it had to be until something was done. Well, something _was_ done." He pulled out two letters for me. "Here's this one. And this other one is _also _for you, Jeanie. It's from Crabapple Cove, Maine."

Shaking, I took the envelopes from Klinger and noticed that the first was a summons to Seoul (for what, I could not know). On the second, I saw familiar writing on the front, the name of the sender in bright black ink at the top left-handed corner. The only time I had seen it was after Hawkeye wrote to his Dad about our engagement last April and had me write a few lines after he was done announcing it on paper. Two weeks later, I personally had a letter from a Dr. Daniel Pierce of Crabapple Cove, Maine, explaining how sweet I sounded and how he would love to meet me after the war, explaining that if his son was serious about somebody and decided to marry her, then he himself must be in for a beautiful daughter-in-law.

After reading those words from someone who was supposed to be my father-in-law, I almost felt unworthy of such praise. I felt embarrassed.

"That was where your daughter was sent," Klinger explained in a whisper as he heard voices outside of the room. "Shannon's blood type isn't yours or that other guy's family, but Captain Pierce's."

I looked up at Klinger, shocked and wanting to cry out. "Dammit, this isn't fair to him!"

"To who?" Klinger started to back away from me slowly, stopping when he bumped into something and cursed silently.

"Hawkeye and his Dad and even Shannon," I replied softly, taking a deep breath as the voices moved away from us. "Shannon doesn't need to be shipped to another home. She was _happy _with Trapper and Louise. Dr. Pierce is one of the only doctors in Crabapple Cove and in the surrounding small towns. So, where is my daughter going to be if he's busy?"

I sighed. "Jesus, Klinger, and Hawkeye is now a proud father of a child that is nearly two years old and barely knows her parents." I wanted to cry still, but the tears had yet to come. "I need to talk to Hawkeye about this. He needs to –"

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Klinger cautioned as he walked towards me. "Your father the 'Heartless General' is around the camp again and wants to talk to Hawkeye. He just came in a few minutes before you bothered me and was talking with Colonel Potter about Captain Pierce."

"Like he wants to beat Hawkeye because he and I created a child and that Hawkeye is just like me?" I asked bitterly, aware that I had a close call and was lucky to miss Daddy. "Poor Colonel Potter couldn't do anything but watch him beat me almost to death, only saying that he had hoped that a father would treat a daughter more properly before going back into surgery. He couldn't say anything against my father unless he wanted to see someplace more remote than Korea. My father has the power to do that to him and more than the Colonel doesn't deserve. What is he going to do when my father wants to beat Hawkeye to death?"

"I don't think it'll come to that." Klinger put his arm around me as I put the unopened letters in my pocket and we started to walk out. "I think Captain Pierce is safe for the time being."

"Let's hope so," I replied, shaking my head, wondering why the tears still would not come.


	22. Sleep, Pretty Darling, Do Not Cry

Later that night, I was getting ready to go to bed after reading my two letters (afternoon reading with C.O. interference for one). I was all alone in the tent. Sidney had left earlier in the day, after the chaotic events that happened after his talk with Colonel Potter (my father demanding what was going on and then leaving in a huff after a good argument with our C.O., which made me happy), so the Swamp corner was mine once more. Granted, I was happier in the hushed, silly whispers of Margaret's tent (giggling well into the night with her, forgetting about the pain in my heart about Dean), but to be back in the Swamp was truly coming home in a way. I had missed it for all of its trappings and finery.

_I am alone._ All of the Swampmen were away from their domain for the time being and had left me alone with their rats, fleas and garbage. Well, Hawkeye and B.J.'s little problems were left to me for the time being, even the millionth reincarnation of the still, which was knocked over by an unknown nightly alcohol assassin the night before when everybody was not watching the quarters. And of course, there was Charles' corner, always as spotless as ever before. His red pillow was perfectly aligned and centered upon his cot (not a ruffle to it) and his phonograph remained closed with records neatly stacked on top. Even his shoes and boots were lined up in a perfect little line.

I laid down on my cot, sighing and thinking as the comparisons made my head ache. _The war has changed me._ I went from being totally alone and missing Falk to being in love and accepting what was going on to drinking and not caring about what situation I was in or what the war news brought us. My summer away from the 4077th brought upon me a new reality, making me rethink everything, especially responsibility and what mistakes I had made. A month after Shannon was born, Henry was discharged and everything went back to what it was as he was killed: drinking to forget. Then, new people and events soon took over my life and the personnel changes jumped and varied. The nurse turn-out was higher than any other in the camp, more so than the doctors (three out of four replaced, one replacement each). Only six nurses out of the original twenty have been here since the beginning of the war, me, Kellye and Margaret included.

I was about to close my eyes and try to sleep when I heard the boor to the Swamp _bang_. It didn't seem like B.J. or Charles, even when the two were drunk, so I was not very surprised to hear Hawkeye's sober voice at the other end of the tent.

"Jeanie, I know that you're here."

I got up, grunted with an eerie tiredness and pulled aside my blankets, seeing Hawkeye holding an open letter – his Dad's letter, I could tell from the handwriting from a distance. I went to him quickly, seeing his face before me, trying to read it because his words sounded so indifferent, so emotionless. All I could see was…nothing. I saw _nothing_ on Hawkeye's face.

"What's wrong, Love?" I asked with some worry in my voice, embracing him, trying to get something out of him.

Instead of being held in return, he ranted. Hawkeye went off on me.

I let go of Hawkeye, realizing how stiff he'd grown when I touched him, and listened with an open mouth as he yelled. "Jeanie, do you know what this is?" he asked me in return, holding up his letter. "Do you know what this is?"

"Hawkeye, I've been trying to get you to talk about it for ages now. I'm not surprised." I made a mistake by just shrugging my own shoulders with indifference when I scanned the letter (same words I got from his Dad, pretty much), trying not to make a big deal out of it.

Hawkeye sounded like he was hyperventilating as he ranted. "Jeanie, this is _serious_. A kid. I have a _kid._ We made whoopee in the Supply Room and look what we have! A baby girl that my Dad is now taking care of! He says not to worry. 'She's the prettiest little girl here and the neighbors are already jealous,' he says. 'You're the proud father of a sweet little girl.' So, _poof_, now I have to be a father."

"It'll take some time," I reasoned, thinking that I had to do the same thing because I was not entirely into it. "I'm not ready, either."

"Ready? _Ready?_ Jeanie, you were _born_ to be ready for anything. You've been handed one disappointment after another. I bet you were ready for this one from the start."

"You're making it sound like it's my fault, Hawkeye!" I gulped, sensing an argument, so turned up my own heat because my anger spiked into my mouth. "And it's not my damned fault because everything wasn't handed to me on a silver platter! I had to _earn_ what was mine and even then, all things seem to die in front of me and it's always my damned fault!"

"I'm not saying it's your fault!" Hawkeye pulled at his hair and paced the Swamp, still yelling. "I can't do this. I can't do this. I'm not a parent. It's my fault, dammit!"

"Sidney's right. You're scared and angry about it. It's you, so it's sideways. You just couldn't control this situation and you feel like you can't do anything. You're helpless and swimming in misery because we're here and not there." I stopped Hawkeye in the middle of the tent as he continued to pace, held him, hugged him.

Hawkeye pushed me away. "What do you know? You knew that you had to be a mother. I didn't know that I had to be a father."

"I know a lot more than you think," I replied hotly, sarcastically, my old self somehow coming out a little more by the moment. "I'm just as ready as you are at this. And I'll be _damned_ if I gave up. I made my bed, so I'm sleeping in it. It's just as much as my fault as yours."

"But my Dad –"

"It's not fair to him, all right?" I yelled out loud. "Ok, so it's my fault that he's stuck with _our_ baby. Yes, Hawkeye, Shannon is _ours_, not just _mine_. You have to deal with it as much as I do. We love each other deeply, Hawkeye. Can't you accept this?"

"I can, but I'm not ready for this yet."

Hawkeye collapsed in my arms. I caught him – his weight, his anger and his frustrations – and let him cry. He was so upset by this, watching everything come apart for him and me. All he wanted was a shoulder to cry on, despite my own height (a joke, really, since he's so much taller than I am). He watched my brother die and could do nothing about it. He watched me slip and fall and could do nothing about it. He watched himself go crazy with the war and could do nothing about it. He watched the war whiz past him as he dodged bullets and explosions and could do _nothing_ about it.

"Shh, Love, I'm not either." I comforted him like he was a child, too, like Margaret only a few months ago. "Don't be mad, please. It's not just your fault."

Hawkeye blubbered about something, but I couldn't understand it. I let him cry and babble everything out. After a while (and I think it might have been an hour or so), he calmed down, sniffled and eventually fell asleep on my shoulders, just like a child would do.

While heavy (and annoying), I was able to drag Hawkeye to his bed, the nose and eyes still draining water, the frustrations of his inner being: his way to rid himself of the large demon called war. I had the same thing, but was still holding it in. I rejoice because justice was served. On the other hand, human lives were used up and _still_ are. It's a waste, either way, and to think of one man dying because he killed another for ambition made me sick inside.

I felt like we were _all_ turning into the very monster we tried to avoid.

I somehow managed to pull Hawkeye onto his cot, watching him chase dreams as I took his boots off and tucked him in, his eyelashes moving slightly with his breath, in and out, up and down. His slumber was like a child's after such an argument, making me want to sing a lullaby to him as he slept. Sidney was right, of course. It was simple enough. Now, the only thing left was to let him sleep and, in the morning –

_Dammit!_ In all of this excitement, I had forgotten about the summons to Seoul for the next day, which Colonel Potter gladly gave me a pass for, saying how much I deserved it. I had a meeting to go to, headed by Colonel Flagg. Of course, because I had missed the last one (my daughter's final custody battle), I had to be at this particular one. Flagg was calling me and four other people over (my spies around Korea and Japan, who used to work for me in West Germany) to Seoul to discuss things and to settle old matters before the war ended. It was actually ordered by General Smith, so I was not surprised to be asked to go.

Hawkeye stirred in his sleep and muttered one word: "Mummy." It was too cute, too sweet and too embarrassing for him. However, thinking about how his own mother and sister had died, within days of each other, he was feeling betrayal to the previous generation, his own mother. Like his mother, he could not care for his own child. Like his mother, he was far away in reach for the child that needed him so badly. He was over ten thousand miles away, a lesser distance than Annabeth Pierce, but the need to comfort, to reach and to touch were all too real. He _had_ to be there, just like me.

However, just like me, Hawkeye could not leave Korea, most likely until the end of the war.


	23. The Unknown Journey

"Are you sure you don't me to come along? You know that I'll behave and stuff. Wait, what's behaving mean? Do I have to be quiet and fold my hands?"

The next morning, clear and warm as could be for a mid-March day in Korea, Hawkeye was right next to me, standing by the jeep as I sat and waited for my driver, asking me if he could come along. Last night's scene was forgotten and seemed like a dream almost. His tears were replaced with endearments and silliness.

Even I wasn't quite fooled by the change, knowing that Hawkeye was still just as hurt at the turn of events, joyous as they are to him. It was not fair to him, not fair to his Dad still…

"Work before play, Hawkeye, and you know it," I replied, laughing. My brown formal uniform packed away, my regular green uniform was making me itch for some reason. The Korean sun was making it worse that I swore that a nasty sunburn was forming on my skin already.

"But you know that work makes a plain Jeanie, but pleasure and play make a happy Jeanie." The flirty words floated in my head, sweet nothings compared to the reassurances, whispered words of compassion and longing in the nights before, long when we were wishing and aching for those dead to come alive once more.

I laughed. "You don't know when to quit, do you?" I kissed him as Hawkeye pouted, puckering his lips in a mocking kiss, making noises without my mouth on his.

"Pierce, can you leave her alone?" Colonel Potter came up from behind Hawkeye, Klinger and my driver – Sergeant Yeats – directly on his shoes. "She has business to conduct. You can't be in the way."

"He likes to block it a lot, though," I said, laughing harder as I took Hawkeye by the hands and kissed him again. "I'll be fine, Colonel. He's not coming with me this time, thank God, or I'll never get anything done."

"Considering this jeep has been blessed by the Padre, I would hope that you wouldn't even _try_," Colonel Potter replied, laughing also.

Yeats, the driver, got into the jeep and turned it on, giving the engine some life. He looked to me and smiled, putting a helmet on. "Enemy fire has been reported in the area," he explained, as if he could tell me all about war.

Yeats himself looked to be about twenty years old, just new to the Korean experience, new to this disease. His sandy blonde hair saluted me from under his helmet, his eyes dancing with joy. He was just another orderly, after all, and might be shipped to the Front Lines soon anyhow.

_What was being a driver going to do to hurt him? He'll learn more on the Front later._

My hair, longer yet and whiter than his blonde hair, flew in the breeze as Hawkeye playfully pulled the pins of my bun apart. "You have an extra one of those?" I asked Yeats, referring to the extra helmet, not new hairpins.

"Klinger, go get Captain Morrison her helmet from the Swamp," Colonel Potter ordered, almost barking at me about forgetting it yet again, but stopped himself. As Klinger ran off to the Swamp, he pushed Hawkeye gently out of the way (making sure he didn't unbutton anything else off of me) and stood next to me. "There is heavy enemy fire out there, Captain. Are you sure you have to go now?"

"Sir, Colonel Flagg was clear about General Smith's orders. He said to come to Seoul today." I was suddenly feeling nervous, realizing something, an idea dawning on me. But I had to test the water, put my toe in, to see if the Colonel saw it, too.

Colonel Potter shook his head. "When, why in the name of Samuel Hill did he ask for you today? You just your blasted letter last night. It's such short notice for a meeting."

"Maybe he meant for it to arrive yesterday and have a rush to get here," I answered, to test out my theory on Potter. "He asked that not only me, but four of my spies from my days in West Germany come to Seoul to settle old matters. Well, we've all working around Korea and/or Japan. And since Flagg's been up to no good these days, since the beginning of the war, with his hands clean of my daughter's custody, then he might be thinking of his own enemies: me, Majors Sophia Henderson and Elizabeth Pace, First Lieutenant Carla Hernandez and Captain Pamela Washington. We've been up against him personally for a long time now. With enemy fire in the area, he might be planning something for the five of us."

"Then why go when you could be safe here?" Hawkeye asked, overhearing the conversation.

"How should I know if this was what Flagg wants?" I asked in return. "He might be telling the truth for once."

"Hawkeye's right, Jeanie. You should stay here." Colonel Potter looked like he wanted to keep me at the 4077th, but he couldn't prove what I was saying was the truth, so could not order me to disobey another from Seoul, especially one organized, in part, by General Smith. He said that I _should_ stay, but there was no order in his voice.

"I should, but I'm not. It does sound a little more than fishy to me, but I need to know what's going on." I crossed my arms in stubbornness. I _had_ to go. I had to find out what Flagg _really_ wanted. I knew that he had a reason for inviting five personal enemies on his into one room under General Smith's orders…supposedly, perhaps, come to think of it.

I also had to go before I also went insane with grief. I couldn't afford to think about Dean all the time in the place he died, too much time alone to think about him dying when I was sleeping on him. I was able to hold it long enough, two months even, but there wasn't too much longer that I could take it. I needed out of the unit for a while before I could handle it again.

"If it does getting too fishy, you get your kester back to camp," Colonel Potter finally ordered, sounding a little angry. It's obvious that he and Hawkeye wanted me to stay, but oh, well. They can both deal with it. A spy needs to be careful, of course, but he or she needs to sometimes put themselves in danger to find out the truth.

_But, I'm not a spy. I'm a nurse. The skills of both are keeping me alive right now._

"You know I will, Sir," I promised, meaning it. If Flagg was playing with something, then I would run back to the safety of the camp…if there was any left for me. "Flagg may be a sneak and always up to something, but he wouldn't be _that_ stupid."

"You never know, Jeanie," the Colonel replied, softly and gently. "Have a good trip. Be careful."

Klinger finally stumbled out of the Swamp (garbage on his boots) and handed me my helmet as Potter backed away from the jeep. "Here, Jeanie. Be careful."

"Klinger, you know I will." I rolled my eyes as I put the heavy object on my head, tired of promising them something many times over. They seemed too worried for me!

"Knowing you, you wouldn't be playing well with others." Hawkeye came up to me and hugged me one final time, pressing what seemed like a piece of paper in my hands as he kissed me. "Dad sent this. I thought you would want it. I love you."

When the trio backed away and Yeats finally took off, driving carefully out of the camp, I was shocked, turning over the "paper" in my hands – a picture – and looked at it carefully, smiling. I recognized the face in an instant, smiling over the toothy grin and the beautiful wavy black hair that tumbled down her back. A backwards glance as she sat down on some carpet gave me a shiver, making me think of farewells, a backwards look back into the past.

_Shannon, my baby…you're ok. You're ok._

~00~

About an hour later, Yeats had yet to make conversation and was still more concentrated on his driving than talking to me. I tried making some, even yelling over the unusually warm wind about my daughter and where she was (living with her grandfather and happy). Spring was in the air and all I could think about was my daughter, safe in Crabapple Cove, Maine.

_She could be playing out in the yard or something if it was warm outside. Or, she could be enjoying walks in the park or be on the beach or…_

About five miles outside of Seoul (and more silence), Yeats and I encountered a group of soldiers, infantry from the 28th unit. Their dirty faces reminded me too much of the 43rd and their constant traveling back and forth: guarding and fighting, before disaster stroke once and again.

"Can't you slow down a little?" I asked Yeats, seeing how fast he was going, narrowly missing a soldier or two when he tried to swerve around them.

"Sorry, Ma'am," he replied, slowing down.

I stuck my head out of the jeep in a spontaneous act, randomly wanting to know these soldiers. "Hey, where are all you guys from?" I asked in a yell.

I heard places like Albany, New York, Barkhamsted, Connecticut, Saint Louis, San Francisco, Dallas, El Paso, Seattle and even Nowhere, Oklahoma (yes, there was a town named Nowhere!). There were too many places in the United States attached to these places, the anonymous faces that war asked to come. They were just another number, after all, another number in a statistic.

"Where are you from, Captain?" an officer asked me, the C.O. of the bunch.

"Bloomington, Illinois," I answered proudly. "Been there since I was ten."

"Pretty little town, that is," another said.

Yeats turned to me in a quick motion, before going back his driving. "Ireland," he added to the bunch of places. "I moved to Boston a while back with me family."

"Pretty country, isn't it?" I asked joyfully, smiling, barely noticing things going in slow motion all of a sudden, things seeming to buzz in my ears, as if something was about to happen…

A whirl went passed us, a few planes passing overhead. "Enemy fire!" somebody yelled suddenly, soldiers dodging and not shooting, an explosion rocking the jeep, making it slip, slide and flip over with us in it.

I screamed, I think. I didn't know what I did, only aware that I was flying, flying like a bird, like plane, and yet…I wasn't supposed to.

_Humans can't fly physically. It's not possible. Why am I –?_

I landed on my face and rolled into the ditch by the side of the road, away from the jeep, just missing getting wet in the nearby river. Yeats was nowhere in sight.

"Medic! Medic! Somebody get a medic!"

Words often said, words often yelled when people were wounded, filled my ears. Somebody was running…fire burned in my chest, my neck. There was another fire over in the corner and that corner, the ground splitting open into a million pieces, into a million holes, a countryside still being destroyed…

The medic was dead. I saw what remained of his body sprawled in a scattered heap on the ground, into large, red pieces, as the last explosion hit the ground, the planes overhead deafening our ears. His bag was a few hundred yards away from the dead body, soldiers running around it to avoid being hit by the bombs. It was dirty and torn, but it had to do. I had to help them.

"Dammit!" I yelled, getting up, without thinking. I grabbed the medic's bag in my run – a fit of energy, a fit of running – and attended the first person I saw, the officer who asked me where I came from.

"A leg wound, Captain, just get to my other men," he ordered, a Major ordering a Captain, as his men came in and out of this life, running back and forth from body to soul.

"I got here first, you're first for a hot minute," I gasped.

"Captain, over here! Please help!" I got the Major's leg wrapped up and sterilized quickly and took myself and the bag to the next soldier. "Please, Captain, save my buddy."

"I'll do what I can." I was quickly running out of breath and energy.

For a few minutes, while planes flew overheard and bombs narrowly missed me and some of the men, I ran from soldier to soldier, preparing them for meatball surgery at the M*A*S*H units, wherever they are going. Some were dead when I got there, some had a chance. I did what I could and moved on.

Dead or alive, I heard the Major order that they all get across some bridge nearby, something the North Koreans and Chinese missed in their bombing because it was a safe haven. A river helped them wash (no time, no time!). I watched as each man crossed to safety, to some place where they felt that the enemy could not touch them.

_Maybe Five O'clock Charlie was up there. Yes, that must be it…he came back!_

"Captain, finish up your work and head across the bridge," the Major ordered me as his men helped him walk, limping slowly past the crushed jeep I was in moments before.

"I will, Sir," I only muttered, helping another wounded man – my last one – up and getting him and his buddy to follow their C.O. across the bridge.

Only I remained afterward. I was the last person to cross.

As I watched the last wounded man and his friend get across to their unit, ambulances about to take them to the hospitals (most were gone out of danger and out of enemy fire, thankfully), I went for the bridge myself. Damning Colonel Flagg under my breath and wishing that I could talk to General Smith, I walked as fast as I could to the bridge, my energy and air levels depleted.

"Come on, Captain, you can make it! You're almost there!"

Cheers and even some soldiers yelling me to move faster came into my ears. Time slowed once more, deadly actions coming closer than I could even imagine. There, I heard another whirl came down from overheard, another bird in flight, another child that had to be dropped to the Earth, to be taught a lesson in survival: of life and death.

Yards away, that child hit the ground.


	24. Shrouded in Darkness

"_Jeanette, come on! Henry is outside, waiting for you. We'll all waiting for you."_

_Mom's lithe and slinky voice – distant, annoying and very faint – was heard from downstairs, from the sitting room, as I was reading upstairs in my room._

"_Coming, Mom!" I yelled back immediately, sighing with frustration and bookmaking my book. I laid it down on my bed, the cat purring next to me, twitching her tail back and forth. I ignored her for a moment and popped some Army boots on – such a familiar motion, it seemed, and much too slow for my tastes – and ran downstairs, through the sitting room and the defunct stove, hallway and into the kitchen._

_Nobody was in sight._

_It seemed like a normal day here in Bloomington. The air felt cleaner, the feeling was calm and the season was early spring, those days which made you lucky that the weather was warm. Lunches were usually in order, always outdoors, so I grabbed the nearest salad bowl, seeing it on the table and ready to be served outside, and balanced it on my left hip, dancing to some tune stuck in my head._

_Whistling – and yet, with nobody was still within my sight – I walked outside, into peaceful, bright sunshine, the budding trees smiling at me. My eyes were blinded for a second before adjusting. The screen door behind me snapped at the touch of the house's outside wall and eased back into its place, creaking softer and softer before it _clicked_ into place._

_I walked on the back deck, setting the salad bowl down at the glass table under the canopy so that it could be cool. I still noticed that nobody was in sight, not even leaning over the deck railing, like most people do when they come over. Usually, it's to smell my mother's flowers, especially the morning glories that wind their way up the deck and up to the railings. It drove her insane when we (me, Henry, Dean and Lorraine) all did it simultaneously, our heads' hair shaking with the wind and our noses stuffy and sometimes bloody when we were finished with our upside-down adventures._

_Startled…I was suddenly startled. I felt too uneasy, feeling like water almost because I felt too transparent where I walking, too invisible. I had my Army uniform on. I thought that people were here, that some outdoor "party" was going on. But, nobody was in sight. Mom wasn't here, or Dean or Lorraine or Henry or the children._

Where is everybody? What is going on?

_My thoughts were running wild, sometimes feeling like they were leaving my head, scattering to the wind for all people to see and feel. This made me think, too, made me ask myself a question that I could not dare to ask anyone else, if they were here. Or, could I? Was I brave enough?_

No, no, no! I'm supposed to be in Korea!

_I turned around to face the canopy, to shelter myself under it, to see if I could escape this place I was not supposed to be in, but all I saw was my mother. Mom was sitting under the canopy in her favorite chair, staring out as if she could not see me. She was dark, a solid figure, as if she was not of this world._

_I went over to touch her and wake her up, but she shivered and turned away from my direction, saying something about the cold touch on her skin on such a fine day with beautiful weather. She mentioned Henry and how she keeps seeing him sometimes, even though he's supposed to be dead. She then pondered why she saw me around the house, a salad bowl on her glass table. Her thoughts – dark, forbidding – even told me about how she thought that this might be a sign from God of his disfavor to her._

_I pulled out of her head and shook my own. Jesus, I heard her, as if she were still too far away and not with me. Then, I saw her turn away, snuggling under the blanket she picked up from the chair next to her._

"_She can't see you, you know." I heard another voice and turned around, seeing Henry._

_Surprise registered on Henry's face as he saw me, _felt_ me running to hug him as his shock was ignored. "Jeanie, you're not supposed to be here!" His voice sounded muffled as I swung on him, settling on his chest, my feet dangling an inch from the ground._

"_Why not? Jesus, Henry, you're the first person I've seen –"_

"_Jeanie, you can't be dead." Henry's words hung heavy on me, like I was on him physically, his head shaking with sadness. "Jeanie, Child, we're all dead here except for your mother here. You can't be dead yet. You're not supposed to be here."_

"_What exactly is 'here', Henry?" I slipped off of him, confused._

"_Spirits wander, Honey, you know that. I thought I told you that. I saw you a few months ago, remember? I wander here and in Korea, to check on you swell guys and gals often."_

"_Jeanie!"I heard another voice and there he was – he was, he was! – running to me, in his Army uniform, just like mine, good as new: Dean. Dean was here!_

_Dean tackled me, knocking me over to the floor of the deck. "What are you doing here, little sister? You aren't supposed to be here."_

_I looked up to my brother, feeling my sisterly love come back to him, and smiled for the first time in perhaps days, months even. "So Henry has said a few times. I don't know how I came here. I was going to Seoul one moment and…" I stopped for a moment, realizing something quickly. "Are you all telling me that I _died_? But I'm not supposed to be here, you said. Here is being dead, on another place. There is being in Korea, I think…well for me, I mean. I'm supposed to be in a war, not being home, dead and as a spirit and maybe having Mom see me and think I'm here for a second."_

"_Do you know what happened?" Dean asked, his grey eyes bearing deep into me, as if reading my mind, reading into my soul, to see the events that conspired before I came back into this next plane. I felt like he saw and felt everything that I was._

"_All I remember is the jeep flipping over and some planes going by and –"_

"_An explosion went off to Jeanie's left after she helped some of the wounded soldiers, knocking her out," Henry completed for me. "She was almost across the bridge when a stray bomb was dropped, the last one for the area. Carried away, wounded in the neck, back, chest and forehead. Burns to her back and neck."_

_Dean got up and helped me stand, visibly shaking at the description Henry gave of my final departure from Korea. "Then how did she get here, Henry?" he then asked._

"_How should I know?" I asked as Henry gave this strange look._

"_You died," Henry replied without emotion, in a monotone voice, as if he was predicting the future. "You are dead, legally speaking. Your pulse and blood pressure went down to almost nothing and then to nothing five minutes ago. You're on the table, a few more minutes to go before going back. Hawkeye's trying his best to save you right now."_

"_Being operated on?" I screamed._

"_By Hawkeye, of all people." Henry closed his eyes, repeating who was trying to save me, trying to take me away from the people I missed in my heart. "Why he puts himself through things like this, I would never know."_

"_I don't remember this, Henry. It's like, I blacked out and came to here and –"_

"_It's not your fault, little sister," Dean interrupted, making me look out into the yard, our backyard in Bloomington. There stood Clarence, shrouded in darkness as he worked silently by the stream, displaying a point: any faults are shown to you in death, where they are accounted for and you spend the rest of whatever time you have in eternity in utter darkness and repentance. Clarence was paying for his actions, as he was in his own hell._

"_Then, where am I going?" I asked, crying now. I was confused, wondering why I was dead again and seeing these ghosts._

_Henry and Dean put their arms around me – a family's embrace. It came to me in good grace, to comfort me in troubled times. But time…what is it here? If I was dead "five minutes" ago, then it seemed like fifteen here. Time slowed down here._

"_You have a few minutes, Jeanie," Henry reminded me for the second time. "You're going back to Korea again."_

"_But, I don't want to, Henry."_

_I didn't. I was telling him the truth, despite the people over there who needed me, depending on me to survive: Hawkeye, Shannon, B.J., Klinger, Margaret, Kellye, Colonel Potter, Lorraine, Father Mulcahy and even Charles._

"_You can't be dead yet, little sister," Dean replied, wiping away my tears for what seemed like the final time. "You have years ahead of you and more little children that will keep Shannon company. You have the future that I could not have. And I am happy for you."_

"_I miss you," I sobbed, feeling myself ebb away from them. I was becoming alive again. My few minutes were becoming seconds._

"_Not yet, Jeanie," Henry just said, things becoming blurrier as I slipped away from the world of Bloomington. No, I could not leave them. I could not!_

"_We'll wait, though, Jeanie," Dean added, smiling at me for the final time. "We'll wait for you."_


	25. Life and Death are Always Yours

I coughed lightly, feeling myself come back into another world. The air around me knocked me back in, as if I were someplace else and put into another shell, slipping into the softness of sheet and pillow…comfort and belonging. I somehow knew that I was back on my cot at the Swamp once more. A familiar hand even placed itself on my forehead, petting me, feeling me, making sure that I was still _alive_ in his hands.

I opened my eyes: feeling the hand still, seeing the olive green tent above my head, smelling the repugnant odor of the Mess Tent lunch next to me, hearing the rain outside and even tasting the water that dribbled on my face in intervals. Hawkeye wiped it all away, smiling and shaking his head in some kind of relief.

I was alive. _I was alive._

"How do you feel?" Hawkeye asked me, his hand off of my forehead.

I worked my mouth perfectly, as if I had used it a moment before, realizing that, indeed, I was still lying in my cot in the Swamp and not walking around in an Army uniform in Bloomington, dead. "How do you think I _feel_?"

Hawkeye smiled again. "Ah, the sarcastic comments are back. Do we feel up to eating or are we too tired to think about the hideous mush called lunch?"

"A little too tired, I think." I sat up a little bit (ignoring the pain and making sure that I never showed it in front of Hawkeye) and smiled, then frowned, wanting to know something quickly, before my mind forgot it. "Hawkeye, I need to know. Are they…?"

"They're all dead, Jeanie. Except for you. All four women are dead."

That was all I needed to know. All of the spies that worked for me, who were going to meet me in Seoul to see Colonel Flagg…they're all dead. Except for me. Dead and gone, just like Henry and Dean and…

I wanted to sink back into a stupor, to ignore the world and just curl up and die – the melancholy in my mind was too apparent, too strong – but I didn't dare. I wanted to be much stronger, to be without feeling and emotion, but at the same time, I was tired of people dying, this war dragging on until there were barely any people left in the world to fight it. Sure, there were probably millions back home to fight it, but when the boys are gone, when the girls have played nurse or spy and died, then who will fight this war? Most certainly, we here could not continue damning it, patching up the kids and burying the dead.

Hawkeye held my hands, rubbing them with his thumbs, willing me to stay alive for his sake.

"I'm ok, Love," I said, trying to laugh in the face of tragedy: his and mine.

"Well, I'm not, ok?" Hawkeye stopped his loving ministrations and stood up, pacing the tent like a lunatic and yelling again. "You know, people who love somebody _hate_ to see them die and come back again. Or get hurt. Or go out there when there's danger afoot. Ah, the game _is_ afoot, isn't it, Watson? You've found out what you wanted to. Now, at what cost? Knowing that people had to watch you die on the table and then, miraculously come back to life? You're a woman of many things, Jeanie, but life and death has _always_ been yours."

I sat there, agape. I felt my mouth dribbling drool, but I quickly wiped it away after a minute of shock. "Hawkeye, I know. I know I died for a moment or three."

"How could you know, Jeanie? You went out like a light quickly. 'Blood pressure and pulse are dropping, Doctor.' Things went too slowly. 'Dammit, Jeanie, you have to live, dammit!' I was screaming, banging away and trying my best because sometimes, it works. Then, magically, a few minutes later, you're alive. And you're…_talking_ to me. Right now."

My eyes watched Hawkeye march back and forth throughout the Swamp, empty once more of its blankets and the inhabitants except for us, and almost cried with the injustice that he was served in the O.R. I knew how unfair it was for Hawkeye to deal with this. Everything I've _ever_ given to him and his family was unmerited…

"I…I saw them, Hawkeye. Henry and Dean and even my stepfather. For a brief few moments. And my mother was there, too, except she was in some other world or something and I couldn't touch her, but she thought that she saw me around. In Bloomington, I was in Bloomington for a moment. I don't know how else to describe it. And they said I wasn't supposed to be there. Dean was happy for me, he said, because I had things to live for. And Henry…" I choked back on a sob, my words still a jumbled mess. "He told me what happened. And I'm so sorry, Hawkeye. I'm so sorry you had to go through all that. It wasn't my fault."

Hawkeye stopped pacing and looked at me.

"Love, it's true," I protested. "I saw them."

"Jeanie, I believe you." Hawkeye came back to me, his face red from letting out his frustrations, things out of his control. He still wasn't angry at me, like Sidney said. No, Hawkeye Pierce was livid over the things that he could not control, frustrated that there was war and that he could not keep track of all of the death, destruction and carnage that came through, seeing its ghosts just like I did, walking where we could see them.

We took each others' hands as Hawkeye sat down next to me again, both of us sighing.

"If we don't get out of here soon, I think I'll go crazier than I already am," I finally said after a moment were the both of us said nothing, after a moment in which we tried to read each others' thoughts. We both failed because the both of us were hiding everything from the other and not letting up on anything, for once letting ourselves stay low.

"We all will." Hawkeye rubbed my hands with his thumbs once more – burnt a little and chafed from the blast (multiple?) – and let out some frustrated air, sighing for a second time.

"Where is everybody?" I finally asked, tired of the silence and yet, yearning for the tenderness that only Hawkeye could give to me.

"Beej is in Post-Op and Charles is sulking someplace." Hawkeye's eyes lit up, bright blue, and not like the cold icy blue stares, like Major Simmons' eyes were, all that time ago…

"Why is Major Ego moping around?" Charles was good about that and we all knew it, except he wouldn't show it publically, as a _Winchester_ never does.

"Margaret yelled at him this morning."

"About what?" I was truly curious. "Margaret ripping Charles a new one? This is interesting."

Hawkeye cleared his throat. "'A Winchester can never be intimidated anybody, especially a woman,' he said after their argument."

I laughed with him about the perfect imitation, making me cough hard eventually. My chest hurt, spitting up some blood onto my hands as I let go of Hawkeye's. When I stopped, I saw the sticky liquid dripping slowly from my fingers onto my blanket. Hawkeye saw it, too, and looked a bit startled, worried and horrified even, as if he had missed something, as if something was still wrong with me and that I was not yet out of the woods yet.

_Maybe Dean and Henry were wrong. I am going to die after all. Maybe this one time I was with them was the one chance I had to go back to living. Now, I may never have another chance. I may have to say goodbye to everybody. Oh, damn my mother's visions and the family curse! Maybe, this time, they were wrong and both of us twins are going to be dead._

I wiped the blood from my fingers quickly, as if to hide it from Hawkeye, and sighed. "I'm fine," I started to protest.

"We should take a second look," Hawkeye only replied, getting up from his seat, thinking and pacing the Swamp slowly. He was like that for a while, making me nervous, making me think about the consequences of my actions.

He had gone back to the doctor, his feelings as my Love put stoutly aside, into the back of his mind for the time being. Only his wits and his skills as that doctor could keep me alive, if it was to be, and not being my Love, the one who always wished me to live out the war with him, as I was wishing as well.


	26. Time of the Season

Melancholy marched right back into my mind after so many months, taking me over, claiming me as its own, after two months of running away from it. I could not escape it. I did not have any alcohol to help me through it until I was healed. I didn't even have a person I could tell my nightmares to without anybody being worried. I tossed and turned in my cot day after day, night after night, coughing up blood and hiding it all from the people who love me the most.

Time crept on me slowly, a scythe from the hooded figure making me dance on the edges between life and death. _Or was it my imagination?_ I did not know what reality and imagination were anymore. I slipped from one dream into the next, dripping sweating as I woke up in the Swamp, breathing heavily, gasping…coughing.

_Could it be? Is it to be or not to be? Oh, why ask me? Why ask me?_

Dean's last night with me kept ingraining itself into my mind again. The shock of it was still too raw, too fresh in my mind. Yet, it had been over two months since he had died. It was late March when it all began, when the dreams of torment and twisted pain came back to me, without warning or permission. Oh, dammit, it had been two months since Dean last talked to me, about the stars and how we could all be like them when we died. It had been two months since both of my parents had blamed me for his death and more. It had also been two months since Hawkeye and B.J. dragged me from Post-Op, after sitting there for two weeks, shoving me in the showers as Margaret looked in on me from time to time.

_Dean…_he was in my mind often. So was Henry. The two danced in my dreams, reminding me of how I was still alive and not with them. In other dreams, Dean and Henry and little colored demons even danced in fire, the latter telling me of how I will never be in perfect harmony, unlike them. Then, the whole fire was extinguished and the figures danced no more, all (Dean and Henry even) disappearing before my eyes. It then became a field, a peaceful field someplace with wildflowers, tall grass, trees and the sounds of nature. I would feel myself walk in it, unlike seeing that fiery pit of madness, and looked around as I ambled around the trees, seeing tired and dirty soldiers, walk past me with guns on their shoulders as I tried to figure out where I was.

And then, there was nothing more than an explosion or two, some planes being heard overheard and then the nonentity: total darkness. It was there, a tunnel with no end. It was total darkness.

I brooded in my cot about this dream often, this nightmare that always comes and goes. As my wounds began to heal physically – the burns slowly melting from my skin, the scars making themselves known and the cough worsening with no known cause – the full season of spring came to Korea. It was the middle of April before I knew it, when the longer days were perfectly beautiful and luscious. Casualties came and went, the sun rose bright and the moon dipped sadly in the skies and events went, as they always did. It was a continuous cycle, as always for three continuing years: working, sighing, ignoring, drinking (once more) and even running away.

Before my secrets spilled out once more, before everything could be released, I looked to myself for the pain to go away, to find some way to experience more of the unmentioned agony I had years before. I looked at my thinning wrists – the only parts of my body left untouched – and searched, far and wide, for that _anything_ that would make it all go away. Seeing the blood was the least of it. It felt _delightful_ to see it again. It had been fifteen years since I had even last tried, picking up the sharpest object I could find and going down that road again. It was a habit I had as a child, thinking of the end of the world and the hell I lived in. And, in Korea, hell had come back to me in many forms and could not stop. The fiery pits only had to pull me in a little closer, make me jump right now, and my life could be over. It could be over in an instant.

I hid, of course. I hid it all well. I kissed Hawkeye, made up with Colonel Potter (after a good yelling in his office about my stupidity), giggled with Margaret and Kellye once more in various tents and danced in the O.R. with everybody else. The Officers' Club, and not Rosie's, saw me more often than anybody else. I wasn't drunk often, but the burning feeling of alcohol soothed my soul for a while – as if to dispel some of those lost spirits coming to claim me – and put me to sleep. I played the "Good Jeanie" and it put a lot of people off, making them think that I was normal again.

I wasn't. Life came in gasps. My chest continued to hurt. And it pleased me more than anything else. That was all that mattered to me.

By late April, I had it all. I could not take anything anymore and had decided to end it. I had to. _I just had to._ Alcohol was not helping me anymore. The sleeping pills I sometimes snuck out of the Supply Room did not help anymore. I would lie in my cot all night, if I wasn't in Post-Op or in the O.R., wondering, thinking. _I had to go._ People would understand. I simply _had_ to go. Life was too harsh for me, too hard on me. I had to simply _disappear_ from this world.

"_I know that I'm not quite ready, but I've made myself as ready as I can ever be. I can't believe it, little sister. Is it to be or not be? Is this really _real_?"_

~00~

I woke up one morning, a few disturbed hours of sleep between me, perhaps less. I had woken up with the dawn, seeing its blood-red sphere rise in the sky: dipping, shivering and even lighting up in the skies, saluting us as another day of war began. Another battle was sure to be enacting out at the Front Lines. Recently, sick and wounded P.O.W.'s were sent to us (plus more wounded behind them). Peace talks began once more, making us hope for some end to the war.

I had given up hope, though. I had given all of my hope to those men, who were trying to make peace for us, but it all meant nothing for me. It came to _nothing_.

I kicked and pushed aside my blankets on the cot and around my corner of the tent, as normal. I put my boots on, tying them just so: perfect as can be. As I put on my jacket on over clothes I've worn for days, I looked outside of the tent, seeing it to be about an hour after dawn. _And nobody was also in sight._ Good. It meant that I was alone to do my ghastly deed. I could be alone and not have anybody catch me.

I knew where to go. Dean had warned me to stay away from that spot, not to walk over the hill and around the camp to that particular destination, even on a date with Hawkeye. Although I had done it many times over, that spot called me back to its fold and asked me to join in on those did have done the same. It was precisely where I needed to be.

I looked around the Swamp for one final time before leaving. All three of the men were sleeping peacefully, all unaware of what was going to happen next. _Good._ It made everything easier on me and even them.

I went to each corner, starting with Charles, then B.J. and Hawkeye, looking at their sleeping forms and kissing them gently on the head. Reaching Hawkeye almost made me give up. _He_ wouldn't understand what I was going to do, but he'll forgive me as I've done with him. And, when I'm done, he can marry Margaret, if he wished. They're good friends and good for each other, if anything happened to me. Oh, I would choose Margaret above all women to replace me as Hawkeye's girl, his wife. She would take good care of my daughter when she and Hawkeye went home, to Crabapple Cove, Maine, with its seashores, sand, seagulls and large houses.

_Shannon…oh, my baby, you will understand, too. Mommy had to go, but she loves you and will always be with you. Breathe deeply, my baby, and I will be there for you. Just call my name and I'll be there for you. I love you, my child, my baby…_

My kiss on Hawkeye's head lingered a little more than the other two, but I had to smell him for one last time, feel the lightness of his whitening hair. It cleansed my soul of the love we had for each other. My soul can rest more easily if I let myself touch him once more, to let myself be free of him for eternity.

As I lifted my head up from the kiss, I found that pesky journal of mine on Hawkeye's shelf, seeing his handwriting in it. _He can keep it._ I wrote in it often, but lately, Hawkeye had been putting his other half into it, writing about random things I could never see. I could not read it, but stare in wonder as the picture he gave me, on the day I left for Seoul for Colonel Flagg, flew out of there as I picked it up, covered in blood and dirty…_my blood and dirty_. It was ripped in the corners, the burning sensation reaching its tiny background, but missing Shannon completely.

I kissed the picture, as if to say goodbye to my daughter again, and returned it to its spot in the journal, placing it on the last blank page, standing the picture against the journal. On a whim, I took a pen from on top of Hawkeye's footlocker and wrote the date – April 30, 1953 – in the journal, the black ink sparkling against the sun. Afterward, I only wrote two words into the glossy, blank pages beneath the picture: "I'm sorry."

_I'm sorry._ That was all that was needed. It was all I could say.

Sighing quietly, I walked out the door, to my destination and my destiny. I slipped out quietly enough, not even making a noise with the door, as the dartboard was wont to do when closing the door. The open spring air hit me hard, making me tear as the sun shone in my face brightly. I covered up my hurt wrists with my sleeves and headed up the hill, passing the garbage pits, and around the corner.

However, one person saw me as I climbed up the hill when I thought all shadows had been extinguished.

"Captain, what are you doing? You're not supposed to be here." Klinger, of all people, was up early and saw me. I should have figured he would be, being the clerk and all, but not _this_ early.

"Klinger, just go away. My work here is done." The words sounded icy, so cold, like it was still winter in Korea. I was as distant as springtime, pushing away warmth and hope from the season.

"Jeanie, if I think you're doing what I _think_ you're doing, then stop. Please. For everybody's sake, stop. We don't need another death on our hands. You were dead once, remember? Captain Pierce was in _agony_ about the whole thing for a while now. He still is. He can't stop thinking that it'll happen again. Jeanie…wait, no, no, stop it…Jeanie!"

Papers flying out of his hands as he followed me up the hill, Klinger chased me to the mine fields as I strode staunchly to my death, calling out to Father Mulcahy (another early bird, I forgot) to get Hawkeye or somebody, _anybody_. He needed help to keep me from committing suicide: another death on the hands of the already bloody 4077th M*A*S*H.

I paid no attention to anything. I didn't care.

_I simply had to die and forget the whole thing, going out like the stars, just like Dean._

Klinger protested and prodded at me all throughout the journey up the hill and to the mine fields. He knew that I knew where to jump and how hard I had to land in order for everything to go off. He then stopped me before we reached where I wanted to be, but knew that the worst wasn't over yet. He seemed a little relieved when I stopped temporarily at our destination and ignored the rest of those hard memories: my dates with Hawkeye, watching Frank at his shooting practice, whistling when Margaret was making out with somebody and even all the fights. I even remembered Dean finding me and Hawkeye on our last date and telling us to come back to camp because there were enemies around and it was too dangerous to be out and about.

Soon, though, as I stared at the innocent beauty in the ground, I snapped. Suddenly, as I came to the final resting place and thought, _just for a moment_, about what I was doing, I stopped going forward completely. I knew that I was doing something horribly wrong and that many people were going to be devastated by this loss, more so than I thought possible. Margaret can replace me all she wanted in Hawkeye's life, but I was the true Love of his life: his helpmeet, his partner, soon-to-be _wife_.

But the pain inside of me _never stopped_. It just kept coming back and forth at me, like waves of an ocean, and it made me want to break down and finally cry those tears I didn't shed.

Klinger's words even hit me home, made me come back to reality. "Captain, we're all crazy here. I'm crazy, you're crazy. This place makes us _all_ crazy. But it doesn't mean that everything has to end. We're all in hell here and it always gets worse. _Please_, Jeanie, come back. Come back. You know that everybody's going to be crying for you, me especially. Well, Captain Pierce is going to cry a lot more than he did before, but we'll all miss you anyhow. Don't try it, _please_."

"Jeanie?" Hawkeye's voice was heard over the hill and, as he turned around the corner and saw me, one foot closer to death, he ran, Father Mulcahy quickly behind him.

"Don't tackle her, Father, don't do anything!" I heard Hawkeye say as Father Mulcahy came closer to me, but my ears were hearing a buzzing noise, as if something was about to happen, as if disaster was going to be _averted_, as opposed to be _enacted_. I knew it. I knew it _well_ enough.

"Oh, dear, Jeanie, don't try it!" Father Mulcahy called out.

"Jeanie, please, don't do it," Hawkeye added as he came to me and Klinger, grabbing me and turning me around, _holding_ me. "I love you, Jeanie. Please don't go. Don't _go_."

I had my arms barely around Hawkeye, holding him weakly, almost cradling him as he almost fell down in grief. And all I could say, as the tears finally crawled down my face – slowly, at first, and then falling into sobs – was the last verse, the very words of a poem of something and nothing: "A brave man once requested me to answer questions that are key. 'Is is to be or not to be?' And I replied, 'Oh, why ask me?'"

Hawkeye held me up just barely (as well as his own weight), my tiny body against his, trying to get me to walk by him as he headed back to camp. Father Mulcahy then took one side with ease as Hawkeye took the other side, Klinger behind us, worrying and talking words I could not understand. I couldn't understand what all of them were saying…

Before I passed out from the pain, crying about the injustice of everything as I started to cough from the rush, I heard myself say more words, words I never meant for anybody to hear. "Suicide is painless, it brings on many changes. Jesus, I know that I'm not quite ready, but I've made myself as ready as I can ever be. Is it to be or not be? Is this really _real_? It's so painless…"


	27. Comfort and Joy

After surgery (round two) and spending five days recuperating in the Swamp (my father even came by for a visit and donated blood for me before leaving), I had been sent to the Laughing Academy, where I was previously studying and reporting, next as a patient. Mostly, it had been as a precaution, if I decided to commit suicide again, but as time went by and the drab Block D cell had been upgraded to something more comfortable, Sidney and I talked. I was even allowed visitors on occasion, which made me happier, knowing that people still loved me and would do _anything_ to help me recover.

Hawkeye was the person who visited the most, laying his head in my lap and stroking my belly sometimes, comforting me and keeping his own self from harm. He didn't talk to me much, but seeing me comforted us both, as if the days were winding down and time was precious: death and separation coming to one of us.

Sidney and I, in the meantime, talked of many things for days. Time went by pretty fast. I had spent most of the month of May recuperating mentally and trying to gather up the marbles that had scattered when Dean was found missing in action. I talked with Sidney about it and even about my family for a while. I told him everything that happened: my childhood and moving around, Bloomington, Henry and Lorraine, my parents, Dean, Clarence and him raping me, nursing school, spying, Colonel Flagg, West Germany, Falk, the 4077th, Hawkeye, the family curse, the ghosts of the camp and more. In turn, he listened to my rants, which was what he suggested that go on during sessions instead of him asking questions and talking.

Sidney never really talked, but let me ramble on our lunch breaks mostly (if we were not in my room), when we were alone with our trays and thinking, as it had been beforehand. He let me talk things out because they helped me, and wrote everything down if he could, remembering everything if he could not. Otherwise, he had a good memory and could remember everything anyhow, asking me questions about the previous talk and where we left off, jabbering away about what I said and then asking me to continue.

For example, Sidney would say something like (as we lunched), "Now, you were talking about your stepfather last night, when we were in your room. You said he repeatedly raped you and your mother refused to believe you, but when she did, she blamed you and called you numerous names and would throw you into church, as if to 'pray out' your soul. How did you _feel_ about it? What _did_ you do about it?"

I would roll my eyes, naturally, and add to the conversation. For that particular question, I answered, "I did what my mother said to do. I went to church and sort of prayed to some God I could not believe in. I sometimes still cannot at times because every time I tried to believe in somebody call 'God', something bad would occur. In this case, Clarence kept raping me and this 'God' could not protect me. Jesus, I think I was almost in nursing school or was on break or something when Clarence stopped _touching_ me. Until then, when he tried touching me, I hid in my corner bed. I liked it better because it made me feel like…I don't know, like I could hide, the last place I could feel safe."

"You thought you could be safe in bed?" Sidney asked, sipping his cup of coffee.

"Yeah, I did, for a while, but even that haven failed me. Nobody really noticed anything, not even Dean really, until I became pregnant when I was sixteen, maybe. I was mortified that it happened and I was confused, without support or help from an outside source. Mom blamed me and threw me in church until I showed. Then, she claimed that I had some illness and needed all the prayers that I could get, so I sat in bed all day, without Lorraine coming in to school me, and listened to everything outside."

I paused. "I was scared, Sidney. I was _really_ scared. I don't remember much else because it became a blur, one day after the next, and I would close my eyes when the humiliation became too much to bear. When I was pregnant, my greatest grief of all, all I could think about was that I was carrying _his_ child in me. It plagued me for days, but it ended pretty quickly one night. I was screaming something on Henry's front door. I don't remember how I got there or what I was saying. All I knew was that I was having a late miscarriage on his doorstep and he was the only person who held me and brought me to the hospital. He couldn't believe that it happened. It must certainly have explained to him why I went missing for months."

"For Henry, that's a pretty big thing to handle. Jeanie, he was like the father you never had. He was worried."

"Of course he was, Sidney! My mother said I dreamed up the whole thing and had 'women's troubles' and all Henry lectured me about was asking for help when I needed it. All this, and my little boy was buried someplace and they would not tell me where."

"I can see that you don't ask for help much," Sidney observed.

"I like to work alone."

"But you're going to be married soon, I hope." Sidney smiled. "Marriage is about working together as a team. It's not _just_ love, but a continuously working partnership that hopefully ends with children, old age and even grandchildren. Can't you imagine it with Hawkeye?"

"Seeing as how we have a daughter already, I think I can." I closed my eyes. "It's been too much, Sidney. Major Simmons made me think that history was repeating itself. But, instead of a dead son missing from my arms, I have a living daughter who has not seen me since she was a week old. And she's not the daughter of a rapist that my stepfather met and connected with, but the daughter of the man I love, _in_ love with. I should be glad, but now I'm worried. Will Shannon be able to live with us? I mean, she might not remember me at all."

"Children connect to their mothers, even before they were born," Sidney replied simply as I opened my eyes. "Your daughter might not connect with Hawkeye immediately unless he was constantly around you after she was born, but she will remember you always. Children have strange memories, even before they are born. They remember their mother's voice and how she felt, even pain and happiness."

"It sounds like some sort of weird science thing," I only said, sipping on my glass of Army rationed milk (powdered, as always), thinking how Hawkeye never left my side after Shannon was born, marveling her, like he was in awe of a pagan idol.

Sidney only smiled. "It is. But, trust me. Shannon will remember you."

"I only hope so, Sidney. I would regret leaving her if she didn't."

I shook my head sadly and let another tear run down my face, the first of many in the two weeks I was away from the 4077th. I knew, for as long as I could live, that no tears should be held back. Grief can pass, surely, but holding it all back made it stay, never making me heal properly.

Already, I was on the mend.

~00~

The hot weather followed me back to the 4077th, where I was obviously having a "Welcome Home" party in the Mess Tent. Everybody was dressed for the occasion, waiting for me as my jeep eased at the main compound. Before I could take my baggage back to the Swamp and settle down, B.J., Kellye and Margaret grabbed me from my seat (Klinger behind them, quickly taking my things to the Swamp) and dragged me to the Mess Tent. Kellye threw a necklace of fake flowers around my neck and B.J. handed me a bottle of beer, coming out of the Officers' Club. Margaret just laughed, saying how much she missed me and how everything was not the same with me not around the camp, throwing one sarcastic comment or another to the camp's sleepy inhabitants.

As soon as the doors of the Mess Tent opened, as I swear that _everybody_ in the camp, plus the wounded that could walk, cheered. The three people who dragged me in disappeared and more people came and went by me, asking about me, how I was feeling, what news of my daughter and how they missed me. Faces blurred, words became the same and drinks were aplenty. I was handed at least six glasses of gin and five bottles of beer throughout the first hour, which made me very nervous as I downed them. I didn't drink when I was with Sidney. I was sober the whole entire time except when I was shot up the ass with sedatives in the early days. At the party, I was buzzing like there was no tomorrow…and I was enjoying myself.

Sidney said, "Live life to the fullest. I know that it's obvious. It works for almost everybody. If you drink, take it easy and know your limits. I think you know them, but can't admit it. It's how you've lived life: you don't quite know the limits, but you take too many risks even though you know better. It's not the fullest, but cutting life short because it's numbs the joys and disasters of your life. Enjoy what you love, but not stupidly. Live it to the fullest, but remember that those drinks – things in your life – are not the best things in your life. And those aren't even material objects."

I searched for Hawkeye for two hours as the party went on, but could not find him. Charles, as he kissed my hand and complimented me on my color, mentioned that Hawkeye was going to do something important before coming to the party. He just couldn't say what and wouldn't tell anyone what it was.

"Do not fret, Jeanie," Charles said, his Boston accent so artificial and yet, so endearing to me at the moment. "Pierce will be back with his usual swill, obviously open candor and loud, _lewd_ drunkenness. You need not worry now."

"Pierce has been on some high horse for some time now," Colonel Potter added from behind me, sipping some whiskey. "Winchester is actually right for once, Jeanie. Relax, sit down and drink. Pierce will be back soon."

A few minutes later, when I could not bear to be at the party anymore (and was becoming more and more impatient by the second, wanting to leave for once and hide in the Swamp), I saw the doors of the Mess Tent open, and there he was: Hawkeye. He was obviously hiding something, but pocketed it when he saw me glare at him with a little anger, annoyed that he was running late. However, he just brushed it off, smiled, and motioned for me to come forward.

I jumped to the occasion. I ran to him and he took me into his arms as I opened mine, holding me again, just like the first time we kissed outside of my quarters, and swinging me around and around, kissing me multiple times as I giggled with glee, like a child. Time seemed to have stopped then, my love for him too open, so _true_, and made me happy, _truly blissful._

For the first time in my life, I felt _happy._ Life felt like it had been the fullest, but yet, it was not finished. Life was not yet done for me and Hawkeye.

Hawkeye put me down gently, planting a final kiss on my forehead. "Jeanie, I have something to announce," he only said, taking me by the hand suddenly and practically _running_ to the center of the Mess Tent, choosing an empty table to stand up on as the path of people cleared. He took me along with him, dragging me up, almost tripping me over people, but grabbing me in time to show me off, to show everybody that I was finally his and that his days as the camp's skirt chaser was over and that he was settling down at last.

"May I have your attention please, ladies and germs?" Hawkeye yelled over the noise as he balanced me on the table and waved his arms frantically, trying to get everybody to quiet down.

"You have my attention, Pierce. What's this 'secret' you've been so bragging about?" Charles was his usual self, snobbish and sticking his nose up a little.

"The suspense is killing me, Hawk," B.J. even added. "You've been sneaky lately, even to your best friend."

"Uh-huh," Hawkeye only replied, laughing and holding onto my hand again. "Well, everybody, quiet down and I'll tell you! There, now, ladies and germs, I have an announcement, when you're good and ready."

The tent seemed to have calmed down for Hawkeye, so it allowed him to continue as I almost laughed with the moment, so joyous and yet…suspenseful (it was killing me, too!). "Here, everybody, we have the lovely Captain Jeanie Morrison who, as everybody has known for a while, is engaged to be married to yours truly, Captain Benjamin Franklin 'Hawkeye' Pierce."

"Get on with it!" somebody called out as shock registered on my face. Hawkeye _never_ referred to himself by his full name except in official occasions.

_Was this one of them? Jesus, what's going _on_ here?_

Hawkeye laughed again. "Next month, on June the tenth to be precise, pending everything like the wounded and the war, I would like to ask this camp to accompany us to our wedding, which is being held here and will be officiated by Father Mulcahy. The bride will actually be given away by her own father and –"

I almost died from shock upon hearing the words, not paying attention to anything else around me. I knew that the war was coming to an end soon (sometime this year and we all knew it), but to marry before its end? Hawkeye was coming up with some crazy things, this being the worst of the bunch. Marrying me, when the war was not yet over and suddenly having a toddler when we went to Maine? I didn't know. Margaret's had failed the same way (except she and Donald had nobody taking on a child that was theirs), but deep inside of me, I knew that it'll work because of everything we've been through.

_Hawkeye's little schemes worked somehow, didn't they?_

Love overcame everything, even reason. So, as the tent seemed to have erupted into cheers and endless whoops of delight, I kissed Hawkeye, answering once and for all the question on how to spend the rest of my life: it was going to be with him, becoming the next Mrs. Pierce. This, above all, made me the happiest.


	28. Happily Ever After?

_June 11, 1953  
Seoul, Paradise Now! Korea Still_

_It's the morning after my wedding with Hawkeye, Journal. Spontaneous as it sounds (so much like him, really), stupid as it sounds right now, I think that he wanted to have one NOW before we head back home, before we saw his Dad. I agree to some extent, especially concerning our daughter, but at the same time…was it really necessary now? People were supposed to be there, people long gone, but still in our hearts: Henry, Dean and Calvin mostly. Daddy wasn't really supposed to be there, but I only agreed because Hawkeye actually TALKED with him about it, saying how much he loved me, would do anything for me, etc., and only asked for a blessing on the marriage. Daddy agreed to it all, weird enough, and decided to give me away anyway._

_I guess that it all started on the eighth of this month, three days ago. I was still in the midst of preparing for everything at the last minute (I scrapped enough money together from the extra five hundred to give a decent wartime wedding with leftover money for Shannon, if you want to call it that) and Margaret and Kellye were helping me. Hawkeye had B.J. and Colonel Potter (Charles deemed himself unready and unqualified for the job of helping him, but would stand there at the wedding) and those three kept busy, talking. Hawkeye, of course, had no idea about weddings and anniversaries, so learned a little when we all got together and managed to make something out of B.J. and Peg's anniversary on May twenty-fourth (with Margaret dancing with B.J., the poor substitute she said she was). Thanks to Peg, Hawkeye started to learn a little._

_The wounded came first, but morale seemed to have been raised by this upcoming event because it was something different. Hawkeye Pierce seemed to be settling down! What a concept to think about! I mean, he was still the ranting, equality to everybody prankster that this camp loves. However, to think that he was settling down (tasteless for him, right?) was unthinkable almost._

_The nurses seemed to have accepted it. The turnout for them is still high and most, if not all, of them don't remember the old Hawkeye Pierce. Only Margaret, Kellye and I remain, the only three who have stayed here since the beginning of the war, the last three nurses from the days when Henry was C.O. gone. None of the nurses that were so spiteful to me or called me names are at the 4077th anymore. It's just us three nurses, closer than ever and only wishing for the war to end._

_The eighth, as I've said…that night I was busy. I wanted to talk to Father Mulcahy (Colonel Potter's suggestion) and ask him questions (to settle my mind, I guess) about the upcoming nuptials, but instead of seeing him in his own tent, I saw him AND Daddy!_

_I knocked and opened the door when I was told to enter. However, instead of finding the Padre all alone in his studies and papers, I saw him and my father, sitting there and talking amicably enough, even discussing the Bible as I stood there, waiting to be acknowledged. It took a few minutes for their discussion to finish, but as they did, Father Mulcahy turned to me, smiling._

"_Ah, well, Jeanie, there you are. I think you need to talk to your father and not to me tonight." Father Mulcahy got up and patted me on the back as he went to leave us alone in his tent. "God be with you, Child."_

"_Thank you, Father." My lips were cold. I didn't want to talk to Daddy. The last time I tried was when he visited me after Dean died, asking me how it could have happened, and trying to kill me, as always. Afterward, AB negative blood had run out in the camp and around the area and the only person the doctors knew to contact for more blood was my father, who had the same blood type as me and Dean. And since my brother is dead and gone, they had to get the General from his post to save his daughter, drinking from the still as I woke up from surgery, round two._

_I think my alcohol system needs to get the blood out. It keeps me alive, after all._

"_Jeanette, sit down." My father pulled out the seat that Father Mulcahy was previously sitting in and positioned it so that I was facing him once more. "We have much to talk about."_

"_What about, Sir?" I asked, playing stupid. I knew what he wanted to talk about and he knew it._

_Daddy looked at me severely as I sat down. "Colonel Flagg's former agent playing stupid with me? I don't think so, Jeanette. I'm not as obtuse as you think I am."_

"_I never said anything like that, Sir, but that you were a lousy parent and never loved me." I dared myself to be bolder, to remind him of our last conversation, when Henry was still alive._

"_And better men than I were those fathers to you. I know, Jeanette. Henry Blake got there first and stole your heart when he was alive. Sherman Potter here has done the same after a while. I can't deny it, nor can I fix it. All I ask, Daughter, is that you forgive an old man of his bitter memories and illusions."_

_I stood there agape, not knowing what to say, what to mutter. I was shocked into silence._

"_Jeanette, listen to me. This may be the last time I see you, because I depart for another location when this Korean War is over. I don't know where yet. But, I will stay for your wedding and may be there for your children if you have more. Nothing more. I know where you're going with Captain Pierce. I know where _exactly_ you are going to live. It's a beautiful place, Crabapple Cove. I thought about living there myself, to escape the mainland of our country, but I cannot. Not after my first wife and the war, no. We spent too much time on the beaches. It would remind me of her too much._

"_My first wife, who was also named Jeannette, I met in France years before the war in Europe even started. We had several sons, seven of them. I cannot keep track of them all. And your mother had five, if I remember correctly, before she had twins, you and Dean."_

"_Jeannette?" I mouthed, the French version of my name on my mouth._

"_It doesn't matter now, Daughter. _My_ Jeannette is dead, has been dead for a few years of the damned Influenza before I met your mother and you were born. She was a nurse, just like you, and insisted on working in a hospital. She raised our sons in the war while I fought it. The sons were spared nothing. They played war before they were even men. They grew up tough, did not care for each other until they were older and left, jumping from one end of the globe to the next. My oldest, Robert, is also here in Korea, but has been patrolling the south, near Pusan. He's a Colonel of his own regiment, in command like Dean was."_

"_What are you saying, Sir?" I asked, confused. He was asking for forgiveness from me and yet was telling me a short story._

"_I named you after my first wife because you were so like her – somewhat on your appearance, because you are like me – when you were born: gentle, vulnerable and soft. You and Dean were even born on her own birthday in November, which made me more determined to name you. Your mother had named your brother and didn't want to name you because she felt shame for having a daughter, so allowed me to name you. However, Rebeccah did not like 'Karie' as a middle name, but chose the middle ground: Karen. Because you looked too pure and innocent, just like my Jeannette."_

_Daddy paused, sighed even. "Jeanette, you're still _my_ daughter, no matter what I say or think. A drunken man's memories cannot take back years of missing you. I was and still am very angry, Daughter, because things have happened. Your mother's family curse caught up to her finally. Hopefully, it'll be the last generation that dies out like that. Afterward, nothing can be your fault, if it was at all."_

"_You're still angry over your wife's death?" I asked quietly, putting two and two together as his words started to go through my mind, the mumble-jumble of stories and anger and drunken years. It all started to make sense._

"_War, death and destruction: it's all the same," Daddy replied. "Life has handed all of us too much, Jeanette."_

"_You're angry over your wife's death and took it out on me because you named me after her and thought that I was her?" I yelled, standing up and knocking over my chair. "Well, 'Daddy', I'm not your first wife that died on you after the war because of the Spanish Influenza. Just because I was born a girl, dammit, doesn't mean that I needed all of the bullshit and games that came with YOUR divorce and alcoholism and everything else! Isn't it bad enough I have to keep myself in check because of the things given to me in life? I've lost so many friends and family already because of the Army and war. I drank myself full and have probably destroyed my liver for all I care. You? You drank like it was water, like it was going out of style. You drank to forget…just like me…"_

"_Yes, Daughter, just like me." Daddy picked up the chair and set it straight again, motioning that I sit down. When I did, he continued. "I told you before that you were like me in more ways than one, even if you can't admit it to yourself. You are loyal to your friends and those you love. You don't think of the consequences of your actions, but act on impulse, without thinking most of the time. You even fall in love with ridiculous people, most that people would scoff at, but deep inside, those people are good. Benjamin Franklin 'Hawkeye' Pierce is an unmilitary jackass who makes fun of the system, taking advantage of it many times. This man's Army owes him nothing but a good pension and a pat on the back for a job well done. He can't be led into battle, but Captain Pierce has morals and principles that he follows without being a hypocrite._

"_I can see what you do, Jeanette. I see what you do in him. Captain Pierce, out of respect for me, asked permission to marry you because he loved you so much and did not want to be a 'common law couple'. He wanted stability and security and he found it at the beginning of this God forsaken war: you. Granted, I cannot say that you are the most stable and secure of people, Daughter, but you're too kindhearted and compassionate. You took too much on your shoulders, much more than what you could handle. Your mother and stepfather did not help you, which was why I was angry when you did not take my side and hesitated. Thirteen years old, thereabouts, I think, and already catching old Clarence's eyes. He was eying you up and down and you didn't notice. You hid a lot. But, you couldn't hide from him forever, could you?"_

_I remembered all of the nightmares from months before – shaking my head in shame – and shut my mouth. Daddy apparently had connections someplace and knew everything._

"_Lorraine Blake told me a lot," he explained, as he if read my thoughts. "I actually asked her in particular to watch over you. Henry Blake, too. The two seemed capable of taking care of you twins. They did a good job. You took to them and they to you. Correspondence was sparse when you left Bloomington, but you had to put a footprint in the world. Then comes Korea, after the initial baby steps: love, lost and war. You learned it well, Jeanette. You spurned an angry old man, not understanding the whole story. Dean knew it all. I told him not to tell you things."_

"_But we were twins. We told each other everything!" I exclaimed._

"_Not everything I told him," Daddy replied simply, a soft light coming in his grey eyes that I had never seen before. "He kept me up to tabs about you when I asked him, which was extremely rare. This was how I learned about my granddaughter, Jeanette. I knew that you wouldn't tell me. I had Dean – no, ordered him to – read his letters from you to me if there was any strange or extraordinary news from the 4077th. I learned a lot from him, actually, like how you hate writing. Another thing we have in common, Jeanette. The list is growing. Do you believe me now?"_

"_How could I not?" I said after a lengthy hush, the camp's activities dwindling down to nothing, changed much from Henry's days when everybody partied. "Her name is Shannon Cora Pierce, formally Morrison. She's almost two years old now."_

"_I want to see her." Daddy's request was simple and yet, impossible in many ways. Or, was it?_

"_We'll make a date later," I answered quickly, warming up to this man who used to abuse and taunt me, dangling carrots in my face when he wanted something._

"_I'll see her when I can, then." Daddy got up, making me get up, too. "Two more days, Jeanette, my daughter, and you'll be married, the last of my children to marry, I think. Robert, Gerald, Louis, Henry, Patrick, Vincent and William are all married and have growing children of their own. Granted, they are scattered all across the world, but I'm sure that some of them will be willing to talk to you, seeing you grown up and not the little girl that tried to climb up their backs."_

"_Sir?" I was confused. I never saw my older brothers, maybe once or twice when I was younger, a child really, but not as an adult. I saw my mother's sons – those older brothers – when I was in Europe._

"_Robert asks that he comes to see you," Daddy simply told me. "He can be called. He has a second-in-command in place, if need be, and can quickly come up from Pusan."_

_I gulped, thinking. Tom, Mom's eldest, was thirteen when I was born. I had seen him, as well as Paul, Richard, Jeremy and Caulfield in the Netherlands, when I visited my grandmother with Falk before she died, far away from her native France. The five brothers were not so bad, but did not like Daddy's sons, who always argued with them._

_Was I ready to see the other side of the family? Did I want to see my oldest brother, who was fifteen years older than I am?_

"_Tell him…tell Robert to come then." It took a moment to decide, but I thought that I made the right decision. I needed to know my family. If he wasn't as I hoped and pushed me aside, then I can easily deny contact. A simple two-word phrase will do pleasantly._

"_I will, Jeanette." Daddy smiled at me for the first time ever, and it wasn't one of his famous predatory smiles, but one of genuine love. "I will see you in two days. Like I promised your Hawkeye, I will give you away. I could bear to have you sneaking behind my back again and would have not forgiven you if Captain Pierce had not talked to me about it."_

_My own father loved me. He was actually a little honorable and admitted his faults._

_Suddenly, though, Daddy went out the door, leaving me alone in Father Mulcahy's tent. It made me ponder, though, ponder and think about the conversation and how, now more than before, my father means a little more to me._

_Two days later, as promised (he keeps those, too), Daddy came back to the 4077th with Colonel Robert J. Morrison in tow, just in time. I was dressing not in the customary white (Klinger even offered his own dress, the one Margaret was married in, but I think he's saving it for a Korean woman he has eyes on, named Soon-Lee), but a little red dress. You see, Hawkeye saw the pictures Henry left behind, those that I was allowed to keep. He kept pointing to the one with me in the little red strapless dress with shawl (something daring I had made), standing on the stairs of the Blake residence smiling, the summer before I left Bloomington behind me for nursing school. I still had it, of course, and only had to ask Mom to send it over, explaining all to her over the phone._

_She was not pleased, to say the least, but sent the dress anyway. In her letter, accompanying the package, she told me, "God sent me a disobedient and dishonorable daughter, resembling her father in every way. However, when God has called her to marriage, I cannot say a word to her, but wish her the best in the holiest of sacraments that He has given us. God bless you, my young Daughter, and may He bless your marriage."_

_It took it as a compliment and smiled, trying the dress on before asking Klinger to make the proper adjustments to it, seeing as how I gained some weight with the pregnancy and then lost it in the days after Dean died. However, when I tried it on in the Swamp behind the blankets – the three Swampmen, Klinger, Margaret, Colonel Potter and Kellye waiting in anticipation – I saw that it fit me perfectly. I came out from behind the blankets, smiling, my hair falling down my shoulders in waves and curls, as it was wont to do in the heat._

_Hawkeye and I danced the night away while I wore that dress the first time in years, Charles playing romantic classical music on his phonograph, like Debussy and Mozart. It flowed through our ears and onto the semi-cleared Swamp floor. Granted, Hawkeye and I bumped into everything (the stove was our main victim, the dress missing its dark marks), but it was worth it._

_The day of the wedding – Wednesday, June 10, 1953 – was actually a little cloudy to start, but had turned warm, hazy and a little humid by the time noon arrived, the appointed hour which had made butterflies in my stomach. Then, things became a blur to me once more, the tickling gone and the seriousness of the matter put through. Images flashed before my eyes: Margaret and Kellye following me, Daddy giving me away, Annabeth Pierce's ring being put on my finger again (Hawkeye refused to put anything else on it and I accepted it as is, not caring at all), three doctors and even Sidney flanking the Chief Surgeon as we were married by Father Mulcahy. Soon, though, our rings were exchanged and it was over and all was settled._

_I was a wife and mother and no longer the Jeanie I had been before the war, even when I arrived at the 4077th. And all I felt, looking back at the heartbroken, lonely Jeanie, was a woman who had found her true happiness at last. The new Jeanie had finally found her footing, despite tragedy and death around her._

_A new life was ahead of me and I could not wait for it to start._

_My father and brother were even smiling with relief and approval the whole time. Robert was like me in so many ways, a twin almost (he could not complain about Hawkeye, even eying the Swamp's still with a hunger I had never seen before). However, he could _never_ replace Dean in my affections. He's more of a drinking partner, though, and kind enough to light a thousand days. Almost fifty with grey eyes and fading red hair like his mother (youthful, nonetheless), Robert is a man that takes the destitute state of affairs and tried to make the best of it. In the war, he is a worthy opponent, but is fair and hands justice down with a firm hand._

_After a party to end all parties with personnel and wounded alike (rivaling even my "Welcome Back" party), Hawkeye and I were granted a few days in Seoul. If something happened, Colonel Potter said that he was going to call us and get our asses back to camp (which was fine by us). Of course, though, no calls have been put through and it's been very peaceful here in the city with no enemy fire around anymore. It's a perfect honeymoon so far._

_And I wrote about maybe ten pages worth of things! I'm still not fond of writing, as always, but I think it was worth it, Journal. The excitement of yesterday has yet to wear me down and even reliving it – the beauty, joy and creation of love – has made me smile._

_Hawkeye's waking up now. I'll be calling for our breakfast in bed soon and dressing myself. God, it's still unbelievable. I am married and soon to be out of this Army, to see my daughter as the war ends._

_For, after all, happily ever after never felt so good before._


	29. Thoughts in a Bottle

With only one day to go before Hawkeye and I had to go back to the 4077th (no urgent calls from Colonel Potter yet), I picked up my journal again, flipping through the pages that I did not write and dared not to read until then. Hawkeye had, apparently, written quite a bit when I could not, so much so that it was a little scary. He dated them on occasion, but most of the time, he put lines across the page and started a new entry without thought. He worried, fretted, ranted and even cried on the pages, wrinkled black and white lines of sadness, shaped in circles of blue.

The first entry was in March, the day I was supposed to be in Seoul with Colonel Flagg, the day that Colonel Coner was hung for mutiny and other charges (so I heard later). It was very frantic and erratic, written in haste after surgery. I don't think Hawkeye even changed out of his old bloodied white gown because some of the pages were covered in crusty brown substance: blood. It was probably my blood, amongst other soldiers, months old.

_She was only supposed to be in Seoul. Jeanie said that she was going to Seoul, only to see what Colonel Flagg wanted. He wanted her and four other people from West Germany to see him, setting up as a meeting from General Somebody or another that needs chocolate biscuits with a laxative. She didn't even make it, just like the others who were found dead on the way to Seoul. I found out that she didn't make it the hard way._

_Potter was told that she and her driver had been driving next to a regiment when the North Korean planes came by and bombed them. The jeep flipped and the driver had died when he was crushed under the jeep. Jeanie landed and cracked her ribs again, mere days after recovering from her rendezvous with General Daddy "Heartless" Morrison. Then, seeing the medic dead, she took his bag and tended the wounded like a good little nurse. The soldiers that were alive went across a bridge that the North Koreans didn't bomb, where ambulances and some jeeps waited for them._

_After Jeanie had helped the last one across and made sure that they were safe, she tried crossing the bridge herself, but didn't make it because, about a few hundred yards away, another bomb hit the ground. She crawled for a few feet after shrapnel hit her in the back and neck and finally rolled down the ditch and into the river, where the unwounded men dragged her out. One of them had an extra jeep and seeing that she was from this neck of the woods brought her here because it was closer than the 8063rd or the 8055th._

_I almost didn't recognize her. I almost didn't know that it was my Jeanie. All I saw was a jeep and a man yelling that a critically wounded woman needed attention. I ran and the first thing I saw was long hair. Dark long hair. It was loose, singed at the ends. Severe chest wound with broken ribs, burns on the back and neck, a severe loss of blood and a hand clenching something. When I took a closer look, wiping some of the dirt off of the woman's face, and saw Jeanie behind them, her eyes barely opening._

_Beej was behind me, seeing what I saw, only his face could not tell me what he thought. He only said, "She better get into surgery."_

"_I don't think she can make it to the table." I knew that she could, but it was doubtful. But I had to try._

_I got Klinger and Father Mulcahy to take her in and Margaret was going to start to prep her. But, before she could go in, Jeanie's eyes started to close and I thought it might be the final time. She let go of the picture, the one of our daughter, saying my name softly. Calling for me. She wanted help. And I might not have been able to help her._

_I pocketed the picture in my jacket and followed Klinger and Father Mulcahy into Pre-Op. I then prepped for surgery and started operating on her. A few minutes later, when everybody settled into another long session, I started to lose her. Jeanie, I started to lose you._

"_Blood pressure and pulse are dropping, Doctor."_

"_Dammit, Jeanie, you have to live, DAMMIT!"_

_I tried everything I could, but I knew that she died. I wasn't giving her up for the hooded figure yet. Potter and B.J. almost pulled me away, but I got her back. Jeanie lives again. Her blood pressure and pulse were up, according to Kellye, and she was back to fighting, like I always knew she would. She fought harder than most people would._

_I had Klinger and Father Mulcahy take Jeanie to her cot in The Swamp. I could not watch her immediately afterward, but had Kellye look in from time to time if she could. Then, when I was finished, I went to The Swamp, to be with her._

I wanted to cry as I finished the entry, but then, I saw the line underneath it and another entry and wanted to continue. I knew that Hawkeye was not one to express his inner thoughts on paper, even to his Dad, but this was as close as I could get to him concerning that day. He wasn't around to see me read the entries and cry, sitting on our hotel bed as the sun strode right on in through the windows (Hawkeye claimed to have another surprise for me, other his wedding gift of a crystal necklace on a silver chain, and ran off). Everything was easily hidden if he didn't try to read my body language, but, dammit, he was good at it.

I trained my eyes to read the next entry, which was short, only a paragraph long and said more about my progress medically.

_Jeanie woke up today, only a day after her surgery to be precise. We talked of many things and I chewed her ear off. She didn't want to eat and sat up, only wondered what was going on. Pulse 90, blood pressure 118/77, temperature 100.2 (morning at 0600), 99.8 (afternoon at 1200), 100.1 (nighttime at 1800) and 99.9 (midnight). I think she's hurting and not admitting it. She coughed up some blood after laughing._

I flipped through pages and pages of Hawkeye talking about the same thing for a few days, but then it stopped. Then, he talked about how I got up from my cot for the first time while he was on Post-Op duty, stubbornly sitting up and walking around the Swamp until B.J. told me to go back to my cot, irritated. My temperature went down, the weather became warmer and our Chief Surgeon stopped worrying. Hawkeye seriously thought that I was going to be ok. He talked of normal things for a while and how I playfully teased him, let him have the journal to write in for a while, kissing him awake every morning I could and even making breakfast in bed for him once, even though the food from the Mess Tent wasn't the greatest.

The next "angry" entry ("helpless" is more of the word, Sidney would say) was the day Colonel Potter sent me to the Funny Farm. Hawkeye had not written anything beforehand, leaving the picture and the "I'm sorry" entry intact and writing underneath it, dating it May 6, 1953.

_Jeanie tried committing suicide about a week ago today. Klinger caught her just in time in her deed and had Father Mulcahy run back to The Swamp to wake me up. I lifted my head as soon as the dartboard hit the door and saw this journal open to a page, two words and a picture telling me what she was going to do before the good Father said anything to me._

_I told Chuckles and Beej to stay put. They woke up to the noise, as did Colonel Potter and the camp, who asked what was going on as he came into the tent. I said, "I have no time to explain!" Then, I ran outside to catch up with Jeanie before something went boom and tiny pieces of her went flying into the sky again._

_Father Mulcahy, Klinger and I got her back into the camp just in time. She passed out from the trek from the minefields, coughing up more blood. I had not seen her do that since the day she first woke up. I thought about letting her rest and seeing what happens next, but I saw the marks on her wrists hidden underneath her jacket sleeves and knew._

_Beej and Margaret helped me with her. Jeanie had taken something sharp and cut her wrists. For what reason, I did not know. I thought that she was happy. I thought that she was getting better. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she wasn't happy with me. Maybe she wasn't happy anymore and just pretended for me._

_Sidney came by after Colonel Potter called him. He talked with me as Love slept from her second surgery (shrapnel swimming in her lungs) and said that it wasn't my fault. Jeanie had been unhappy for a long time, he pointed out. She wanted life to go on as planned and played it like that. After Dean died, she didn't mourn like we did. She didn't have the time or allowed herself to like we did. She was more concerned over other things and could not stop to think. Her father tried to kill her. She went to Seoul and ended up being blown up. She died, went to heaven and came back. Now, she's back at the camp and unhappy._

_Jeanie has been unhappy for the longest time. She unloaded herself on me Day 1. I took her under my own drunken wings because she looked lonely, lovely really. Henry was yelling at her and I thought to ask her out. I ended up with more than I bargained for, too. I fell for her that night and gave up nurses gradually except for Margaret once. Only once I cheated on Jeanie and she forgave us. It was in her nature to do it. Although I knew her brother was going to kill me. Jeanie's love for me stopped it and stopped me from rescuing more damsels in distress._

_I just didn't know that she was still unhappy inside. She's been through a lot during this war and it wasn't my fault. I was the person who made her laugh, kept her sane and drank with her like she did with me. She kept alive because she knew that I loved her. My love kept her alive._

_Sidney said that she normally would not have done it, but a lot of things happened. If she talked things out, she'll be ok. If she talked things out, the healing process could be faster than he anticipated because of how much progress she already made with many other things, things she didn't tell me about._

_One of things that bothered her was me not talking to her about Shannon. I didn't think Jeanie would understand. I knew that she was my daughter from the morning she was born. I just didn't want to admit it. Ok, so I admitted it here. Shannon is my daughter and I knew it. So what? What could I do when I was all the way here and not all the way over there, taking care of her? I knew that I wasn't ready to be a parent and it still frightened me, waiting in anticipation to know the whole truth. I was a father. I _am_ a father._

_Trapper did a good job watching out for her. Now, it's Dad's turn, thankfully. So far, so good. Shannon's in safer hands now._

_Today begins a long a few weeks until Jeanie comes back. I'll count the days._

I had tears in my eyes reading that. Hawkeye blamed himself, shared his feelings about Shannon and didn't say a word about it. He did many things: kept to himself a lot more than I bargained for, knew that Shannon was his daughter the moment she was born…even felt regret about cheating on me. Of course, I forgave him and Margaret! What else could I have done? I love them both dearly now, much more than ever before. We've unloaded on each other for months now: hiding, scrambling and even crying. We've cracked, splintered and mended. And it was not yet over.

The war was not yet over. The peace talks were on once more and this time, we've been promised that they would be good and give us the results we've been craving. There was more pain to go through and I knew it. We could only take the joy as it came to us, one bit at a time.

I looked to the last entry Hawkeye wrote, dated May 21, 1953. It was two weeks after I left the 4077th for the Funny Farm.

_Jeanie came back to the camp earlier today and the party we held for her was a success. I wasn't there most of the time, although Colonel Potter, Margaret, Kellye, Chuckles and Beej did a good job of keeping her occupied. I was in Seoul, picking her up necklace and to talk with her father quickly. I did arrive back in time to see her, though, and tossed her in the air and held her. Then, I announced a date for the wedding out loud and nobody objected, not even Father Mulcahy, who suggested that I stop by to see her father and ask for his blessing on the marriage. He also helped me organize everything. Without his help, I wouldn't have made that decision._

_It was an amazing day and I was so glad to see Jeanie Love smile again, a genuine smile I had not seen in ages. She was shocked, but I think she was over it soon. She was happy._

_I think the scars have started to heal for her. Now, it's time for me to do the same._

I smiled, wiping away my tears, and closed the journal. Hiding it under my pillow and thinking, I flopped on the bed as if I was sleeping. Like Hawkeye, I dove into the deepest thoughts and wrote them down, not showing the other anything, but guessing a lot. I knew that Hawkeye was not telling me everything, but in those entries, he said _a lot_ more than what he could tell anybody about. Hawkeye was a private person and it always took some time for him to tell me everything he could about himself: through actions, speech (rant or otherwise) and even pranks.

Just as soon as my head hit the pillow, Hawkeye opened the door to our room, sneaking in like a thief in the night, a bottle of wine and two glasses in his hands.

He leaned in and kissed me. "Did I wake you up?"

"No, you didn't." I kissed him again as I sat up, hungry for just _him_.

Hawkeye waved the bottle and two glasses, mouthing, "Wine?" as he continued to kiss me.

"If we don't stop, I don't think we'll get to it," I replied, pushing him away so that he could pour. When he did finally obey me (a few minutes and many more kisses later), I asked, "What year?"

"A good year, 1943," Hawkeye laughed, topping up the glasses and handing me one. "Wouldn't old Chuckles be jealous?"


	30. That Fateful Bus Ride

**WARNING! The following chapters are based on "Goodbye, Farewell and Amen" before I fill in the postwar chapters. If you haven't been the final episode, I apologize for the spoilers.**

* * *

It was early July already. More often than not, we had days and days of more horror, day and day that Hawkeye and I had to witness as we worked nonstop in the O.R., putting our marriage to the side. We almost pretended that it never existed inside the walls of blood, gore and war and outside, in the halls of recovery and optimism. The looks of love between us kept us going, as if our marriage was the only thing that would keep us on the track to survival. Even with little to no privacy in the Swamp (B.J. and Charles, at least, were not as inquisitive as Trapper and Frank), we still found the time to be ourselves and to be the best working relationship we could, learning from Margaret's mistakes.

Little and low hopes even kept us all alive, even if the war was about to hit its third anniversary. However, the peace talks have dragged on. All throughout the month of June we heard that, fights breaking out at the tables before negotiations began again. With no conclusion in sight, our hope seemed to have been dashed again, but reports from wounded soldiers here and there kept it going.

In the middle of all of this, we realized that Independence Day coming up. With this in mind, Colonel Potter thought of an idea.

"Why don't we have a good old fashioned beach trip?" he asked everybody one day while we all still in Post-Op, moping around and grumbling about the war again as another session in the O.R. had ended and another shift was being switched. "Inchon has a beach. I heard that it's beautiful down there and it's usually empty. Why don't we head down there for a spell?"

Heads perked up, eyes lit up and a lone voice was heard from the other end of Post-Op. "A beach trip? Oh, boy, oh, boy, oh, boy!" Hawkeye, the lone voice, exclaimed. He was jumping up and down like a child as he skipped over to the group of us (me, Colonel Potter, B.J., Charles and Margaret) and whistled.

"Easy, Hawkeye, easy," Colonel Potter replied, motioning his hands up and down to emphasized the point. "It was just a suggestion."

"I vote for it," B.J. said, smiling, his mustache turning into a smile itself.

"So do I," Margaret added, for sure remembering the time capsule we had buried the weekend before and how sentimental we all were, needing something more. "It'll be a nice change of pace. We need the morale."

"I don't care, just as long as we have fun," I laughed when Colonel Potter looked to me for my opinion. I was more amused by Hawkeye's reaction to the suggestion, acting like a child.

"Please? Please? Please?" Hawkeye continued to plead, his pretty blue eyes begging more than his mouth ever could.

"Ok, ok, don't get your skivvies in a twist, Pierce," the Colonel finally replied as we all gave in to a nervous laughter. "I'll get on the horn and let you know about the final decision as soon as possible. I-Corp has been reporting enemy fire and I don't want any trouble on our behinds, if you know what I mean."

The final decision had been in our favor, of course. Most of the camp was going to Inchon (with a small team volunteering to stay behind for the wounded, Charles heading them) to relax on the beach for the day (and celebrate the holiday, too!) and go back via bus. Only one bus had been made ready, so Colonel Potter figured that it'll be crowded.

Oh, God, was it _ever_ crowded!

Hawkeye and I stuffed ourselves in the back of the bus, swinging our flasks full of still gin (we filled them on the way out), getting a little drunk before we even reached the beach. Emptying them quickly by ourselves and not sharing, the both of us drunkenly blew up two beach balls that his Dad sent (a silly wedding gift, he said in the letter, but one that would make us smile) and started throwing them around, laughing as one of them hit Margaret in the head. It pissed her off a little, but when she realized that we were playing, she joined it, aiming them at our heads and laughing, her blonde head waving in the sunlight.

As soon as the bus stopped, everyone ran out, almost stomping on the people in front of them and tripping in their haste to get out of the bus. Oh, sand, surf, swimming, volleyball, cooking out and laughter: a good time was had by all, to be sure! I had never been on a beach before save for my dreams, living out in Bloomington (where we had lakes and streams), so enjoyed myself and laughed as the sand got into my shorts, in-between my bare feet and even in my bag.

Around noontime, after the lunchtime volleyball game and accompanying barbeque (with a real ball and net, Colonel Potter as the referee), Hawkeye waved for my attention as I sat on the blanket, reading another trashy romance novel that Margaret handed t me. When I obliged him, he then grabbed my arm and took me down for a walk when I protested, quite jokingly, about him bothering me when I was clearly enjoying myself with a book in my hands and the sun in my face.

"Isn't this beautiful?" Hawkeye finally asked me when we were out of earshot of everybody else, waiting until we were totally alone to talk. He was also ignoring my protests.

"Sandy," I laughed, kissing him with my chafed lips, tasting of salt and air.

"You'll get used to it," he replied. "We live a short distance from the ocean. Four miles in, you would think that Crabapple Cove didn't have a beach the way the town is clean. It's also full of woods, if you get to the western side of the town. Lots of streams, lots of fishing and hunting. It's full of everything. It's a large place."

"Except you're no deer hunter," I snickered, remembering the Hawkeye of the book he was named after.

"Dad tried." Hawkeye was quiet for a moment. "I was more into fishing, especially after Mom and Loretta died. It's quiet. Nobody is around. You can gut and cook dinner right there."

"I can't wait to go there," I only said quietly to him as we stopped and held each other under the shade, rocks and cliffs covering up our future misdeeds. "I told you this once and I'll say it again: I'll go where you go. I agreed to go back to Bloomington to pick up my things. Mom already knows that I'm not staying. I explained it to her already, many times over. She knows where I'm going and how to reach me."

"Even if I go to hell?" Hawkeye asked, his blue eyes shining, ignoring the bit about my mother.

"Just as long as I get to roast some marshmallows," I replied, trying to fit my face into the deep, hollow place of Hawkeye's neck, but I still could not reach.

"And play in the devil's domain," Hawkeye added.

"For eternity," I whispered back, basking in our brief moment of private love.

~00~

The bus ride back to the 4077th (which nobody wanted to happen because the day was beautiful and made us forget the war for a while) was long and eventful. It had also changed everybody on riding in it forever, especially Hawkeye, who was never the same again afterward. And all of it reminded us that the war was on and that the lives of so many, when hung in the balance, are more important to the life of one, even if it was just a crying baby.

Again, Hawkeye and I sat in the back of the bus, still smiling and laughing and throwing around the beach balls, colored whirls in a dark world. The sun had gone down, the inside lights of the bus lighting up the sunburned faces of those who came (even my arms and face were marked up, red rashes that I wanted to scratch). A bottle of whiskey was being passed around, cheers going up and down and songs sung, Hawkeye leading most of them.

"Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall…"

The chilly night air from my window seat made me smuggle closer to Hawkeye, who put his strong arms around me, as if to protect me from harm. We were married for almost a month and nothing had happen to mar our happiness save for the war's wounded coming in and out. The day's events had helped us to remember the power of happiness and where we could find it. It was a perfect day on the beach in Inchon, a perfect Fourth of July celebration that made us forget the counter powers called war and politics. In place, we showered each other with love and peace.

Just outside of Seoul, in a small village bombed out by the North Koreans and Chinese (I could not remember the name anymore, another crater in the land called Korea), Colonel Potter saw some Korean refugees and U.S. soldiers and ordered the bus to stop and pick them up. Some of the refugees were slightly wounded (one soldiers was severely wounded), their family members carrying them away from the harm. They were chattering in hushed Korean about this war and how they wanted everybody to leave them alone so that they could live.

An insignificant couple in the clutter of Korean refugees was a mother with her baby son, an odd pair in the group of families that struggled to get into the bus. Alongside the other L.I.P., she also struggled to make room with the doctors, nurses and orderlies of a U.S. M*A*S*H unit.

"We could help them," Colonel Potter yelled as he motioned everybody to come aboard, Korean words never coming to him. "Come on, everybody!"

Reality set right back into us, telling us more stories in our minds about the war we worked in. Hawkeye let go of me immediately (duty had called to him again) and obeyed Potter's orders, helping the soldiers and Korean refugees up into the bus, ordering that people in the back make room for the critically wounded soldier. As the bus started to move again, with everyone safely aboard, Hawkeye came back and sat at the edge of our seat, a slightly wounded Korean man between us, yelling for medical supplies to come back for the wounded soldier…a bottle…

We tended to the wounded, gave them the attention that we could give them, and waited silently to get back to the camp so that we could do more. But, just outside of Uijongbu, about five endless miles before we reached camp, we had to stop again. More soldiers on patrol hailed us for a ride, all of them quietly hiding for some reason, squeezing in-between all of us, shaking and not saying anything. Then, the one soldier that came on immediately told the driver to pull over into the woods, stating that there were enemy soldiers in the area, a whole regiment of them that pulled themselves over the border, fighting for land before the war ends.

Hawkeye stood up again, helping everybody make room for the added passengers (the bus was getting awfully hot and stuffy with the number of people onboard) as the bus hid in the woods, the lights killed, darkness surrounding us. A soldier took Hawkeye's seat and sat next to me and a slightly wounded Korean man, telling me to try to get the man to be quiet, to sooth him so that the enemy could not hear us. Harsh, yes, it was, but it was necessary.

I had to help the poor wounded man be comfortable, to quiet him down before the enemy came to the bus, killing us all. So, I spoke quietly in my almost-forgotten Korean, telling him to be silent, that we'll get him the help that he needs before long. We'll be away from the enemy before he knows it and, soon, he'll be able to go home to his village…whatever was left of it.

Seconds passed, our breathing becoming shorter and shorter, as if to conserve air. As my Korean man went noiseless, I realized that this may be my last night on Earth. I accepted it, but I somehow had the audacity to pray to the God that most people believed in, asking that we all be spared and get back to the camp safely. I closed my eyes, telling myself the words over and over again, "Oh, sweet God, let us live, let us live!"

Suddenly, a wail from a baby was heard. I opened my eyes and looked behind me, where the noise was coming from. And there she was…the poor mother that came onto the bus was trying to quiet her son, the child that might bring the enemy over to us. Her Korean words of despair told me of her never-ending efforts to save us, telling her child to be quiet so that we could all live. She petted his hair, smoothing it down, but it was no use. The child could not be comforted.

And nothing, not even reassurances from others around the poor mother, could make that baby stop crying, although we all know that we tried. That child was passed on from person to person, to parents and baby lovers alike, even to me (I could not handle it, remembering Shannon). We tried and failed to make him happy, placated. Finally, the baby was given back to his panicking mother, who tried again to make her child quiet down.

Hawkeye was livid the whole time the child cried, hissing at the woman to make her baby shut up. I looked from him standing above me to the mother sitting a few seats behind me, who had tears in her eyes. Seconds more passed as the two struggled, stubborn in their places, everything standing still: Hawkeye trying to keep his head and the mother trying to keep us safe.

I closed my eyes again, praying, and then opened them. Before I could look to the mother for the millionth time, the crying had stopped. When I stood up and turned around – as if to check on things, like a good nurse always does – I glanced over at the baby in his mother's lap, his head aimlessly rolling from one side to another.

The baby had been smothered by his own mother.

Sick and close to throwing up, I turned back to Hawkeye with tears in my eyes, crying for yet another life lost to the war. But, when I tried to see what was in his eyes, to seek that reassurance from him, I saw nothing…_nothing_ in him. Shock wasn't the word to describe the way Hawkeye Pierce had been when he watched that child be smothered by his own mother so that the lives of many could be saved, living for another day.

_Changed_ was the word to describe my Love. Hawkeye was _changed_.


	31. Drink to Remember

Days lingered and things went on a faster pace that what I could imagine, especially with the war ending. When the news came that the war was coming to a close and that the two Koreas had reached an agreement (but no armistice was in sight yet), there was rejoicing throughout the whole camp. However, the war was not yet over and we knew it. Refugees, and then P.O.W.'s, came pouring into the camp. M.P.'s built a separate barrack for the prisoners, fencing around from the outside world. Refugees, helped by Soon-Lee (also our translator, cleared of any criminal charges), sought medical help through us, crowding around as their villages became dust and their families separated.

And, of course, the wounded kept coming in.

The only person missing from all of this was Hawkeye, who should have been dancing with us in our spare time, celebrating with us in the _real_ ceasefire that was coming. But, as I walked around the 4077th alone, the crowds of Korean P.O.W.'s and refugees getting larger and larger, I aimlessly remembered the incidents that made Colonel Potter send _him_ to Sidney and not me. It was Love's turn, to find out about what truly made him break down.

However, what startled me was what made Hawkeye start to crack and break permanently.

Not even a day after the trip to Inchon, we had wounded in the compound. Of course, Hawkeye was fine (well, as fine as he could be, but somehow, the Swampmen and I knew better), but in the hours after seeing that baby killed, he was quiet…_too_ quiet. He laid down on his cot, staring at the tent's ceiling, without uttering a peep to anyone. He got up to tend to the wounded when called for, as usual, but when he was prepped and ready to operate on one soldier, he tried doing it before he was put under by the gas passer. Kellye, who was sitting there, arguing with Hawkeye about it, tried putting the patient under a few times, but was stopped by Hawkeye several more times before B.J. had to stop and take Hawkeye out of the O.R. He then kept screaming that Kellye was smothering the patient.

I watched Hawkeye, who was pacing behind the double doors, for the few hours we were in the O.R., worrying about him. Colonel Potter kept nudging me, telling me not to fret because it might be temporary shock from the trip, seeing that baby killed. I mean, it killed all of us to see it happen, and Hawkeye usually took things a little harder than most, so I followed the Colonel's advice and tried to stick to my work. I succeeded to a point, but when I got the chance, I took Hawkeye back to the Swamp before he could put a hole in the floors pacing, laying him down on his cot and telling him to rest.

Whimpers then came into my ears as Hawkeye laid there, protests about a woman killing off her chicken so that the North Koreans wouldn't find us. Oh, I knew what it was all about, the thoughts hitting me like a ton of bricks. I chose not to tell Hawkeye about it, letting him think that it was a chicken that the Korean woman smothered, not her baby son. He'd come around, maybe, but he'd need that help and rest I wanted him to have.

And knowing Hawkeye Pierce, he would not rest. He paced _more _for a few days, making _me_ nervous with his lack of communication and his behavior. He tended to his patients with silence and treated us all the same. But, one afternoon, only five days after that fateful bus ride back from Inchon, Hawkeye decided that it was a swell idea to take a jeep and drive it into the walls of the Officers' Club, destroying it for good. As he got out of his seat, killing the engine, he walked up to the bartender (Igor), as normal as could be, and ordered a double bourbon, which he _never_ drinks.

Colonel Potter saw the signs (a nervous breakdown and I knew it from the start), saw that Hawkeye was not his normal self after that bus trip, and sent him to Sidney, with Hawkeye protesting all the way. He thought that there was nothing wrong with him. He thought that being sent to Sidney may be a treat, away from the hell from which he hated, but that he didn't need to go to a psych ward and be locked up and sedated. He thought that he was as normal as he could be and was just a little crazy from the war is all…

I kissed Hawkeye goodbye as he was picked up, knowing that I'll be counting the days, just like he did for me, writing in the journal, and waiting anxiously each day, wondering what news could be brought about him. Even though Sidney barred me from seeing him (and everyone else who was on the trip, for that matter), I still hoped for his recovery, just like he did for me. I knew that, with talking and slowly remembering things painfully, he'll speedily come back to himself and ran back to us.

~00~

Hawkeye had been gone for over a week. I was quiet and alone, even though the people around me treaded carefully about my own nerves, elbowing each other if Hawkeye was mentioned. They all cheered me up, got me drinks and even shared letters with me, asking me about mine. I didn't have much to share (Mom had stopped writing to me, so the only letters I got were from Lorraine and her children and Daniel Pierce), so kept to myself. B.J. would swap photos with me (I had lots of them all of a sudden, Hawkeye's Dad taking many of them), beaming with pride and joy about Erin. He was anxious to see her on her second birthday, telling me he wished the war to hurry up so that he could drop in on his wife and daughter just for that occasion.

I wished the same, but somehow, I knew that things could never be the same after the war ended. We couldn't just pick up our lives, as if we just left them there, and start again. People would expect us to. They would tell us that our lives had come to a complete halt, taken to a different place and placed on hold until it all ended and we could go home, to pick up the tools we had dropped and the children we had left behind to another's care.

Of course, it was never that simple. No, it was _never_ going to be that easy again.

To escape the camp's tedium and eggshells, I walked over to Rosie's again, which I had been avoiding for months. Since the Officers' Club had been destroyed and dismantled for the time being (and perhaps never to be put up again), I had no choice. The still's gin reminded me too much of Hawkeye, of his troubles and thoughts, and it made _me_ want to forget everything again. Sidney taught me moderation, to enjoy life to the fullest, to snatch each good moment as it came to me, and for me to avoid going back to the long ago behavior which seemed almost welcoming to me.

However, going to Rosie's also seemed to have betrayed the trust Sidney put into me, as if I was going back on my word to stop drinking heavily altogether. And with those heavy thoughts on my mind – the war, Hawkeye, Dean, my daughter – I had every right to. I had every _need_ to get back on the wagon and drink to my heart's content, forgetting this year of 1953 entirely. But, there also needs to come a time when I'll need to stop drinking.

_It'll take me a long time to stop completely. Even Sidney said that. He said I'll slip and fall and even do it again once in a while, because that was my defensive mechanism: to drink and forget. Alcohol is everybody's best friend. It was what I grew up with. Hell, I used it to solve every little problem, just like my parents and Clarence did, although they all went over the top, more so than I ever did.. Even Henry and Lorraine drank heavily before the girls were born, getting us twins to join in when we were older, even though we were doing it before we went next door, playing all night. Lorraine stopped for the children and Henry did too, only picking it up in Korea: the comical drunk, the Greek tragedy of old that even went wrong when it was not supposed to._

Passing through numerous Korean refugees as I walked out of camp (and avoiding some of the pick pocketers in the meantime), I squeezed myself down the road and into the now-tightened doorway of Rosie's Bar. I stopped in the entranceway, as if entering a forbidden place that kept beckoning to me, telling me to come back. I then automatically looked for Dean, half-expecting him to be sitting at a corner table, sipping on some gin like old times, but he was not there. The ghost figure at our usual corner table was there, though, light dust dancing in the sunshine as it sparkled through the windowpanes.

I was being pushed in by a bunch of rowdy Marines, so walked on through, bravely taking the corner table of old as other Jarheads jumped in, as usual, and drunkenly fought over which chair was theirs. As I sat down, Rosie herself came up to me, asking me if I wanted the usual (gin) and mentioned how wonderful it was to see me again. She also said how sorry she was about Dean, but I almost brushed the condolences away. I was tired of them and only wanted to drink it all away again.

"Yeah, make it the usual, Rosie, and make it a double. And thank you for everything."

Rosie made up my order and put down the two glasses of gin as she came back – cool, clean and refreshing – and walked away, tending to the idiotic Marines in the next corner. As she did, I took the first glass of gin in my hands, smiling as a shadow came to my table, a familiar figure with folders and files commonly seen in his hands. And he always seemed to have come at an appropriate time, putting down his odd paperwork and sighing.

"I figured I would find you here," Sidney said. "Although, I must say, it took you long enough to get back here."

"The Officers' Club is destroyed, remember? And I thought you were with Hawkeye."

Suddenly, though, I put my glass of gin down, scared. Sidney came for a reason. I could not be drinking especially if what news he had was bad, especially if it was about Hawkeye. I had to _stop _before I did something stupid again.

Sidney saw the fear on my face. "Drink it, Jeanie. It's not going to hurt you."

"I'm just afraid of getting too lost in it, Sidney. And I also thought you had some news. I'm sorry. I'm pretty worried about a lot of things, most especially Hawkeye and how I'm going to handle him when I get him back and we go home to a happy family we left behind. He's lost it pretty badly, almost as bad as I did. I mean, he was cursing this crummy war for the longest time now and then, just this past month, he married me. And we were happy. We were really _happy_. We even talked about more children on the honeymoon, after getting used to Shannon for a while. Then, this thing on the bus happened. We were all horrified. I was sick to my stomach for hours, just thinking about that baby. And that poor woman…I don't know what will happen to her. She must be regretting this."

"But she saved everybody on that bus. She did it for that reason." Sidney even ordered a drink (rare is that time) and sipped it as Rosie brought it to him.

"Oh, so you know about it?" I still didn't touch my drink.

"Hawkeye broke some ground. He remembers everything now." Sidney was quiet as he said it. "He repressed everything so that he could not remember the incident. He's seen enough of the war and was so traumatized by it that he could not believe it. So, he 'forgot' it."

"Sidney, I remember that night and I was pretty upset about it, too. Picking up refugees and wounded soldiers, somebody needed a bottle of plasma, a bottle…"

Sidney put a hand on mine, trembling along with mine as I pushed back sobs. "I know, Jeanie. It's ok."

"No, it's not ok, dammit!" I yelled. "Look what this war made us into! We're all lunatics here, drinking and trying to forget it all. It gets out of our hands and we start to see everything, we start to lose ourselves. We start to remember that this crappy place is where we're staying and living it down, trying to stay alive. Then, we seem to remember the wounded and the little children that came and went and could not survive, _did not_ survive. We held their lives in our hands and could not help them. We held so much power in our hands and could not handle it, even if we could save people. We're not gods here, you know!"

"Then drink to _remember_," Sidney replied, still holding onto my hand. "Everybody uses drinking to forget a place like this, to forget all about it. Why not drink to remember? Drink to those who passed away, drink to those who are not here. We all toast people who are not here, like you've always done. But then, you drink more and more to forget about them. But, Jeanie, you can't forget Henry or Dean or anybody else in your life. You _cannot_ forget the children, civilians and soldiers that came through the 4077th. Nothing can take that away from you, not even alcohol. Everybody and _everything_ in your life is a part of you. You can't keep killing off parts of your life."

I looked at Sidney like he was crazier than I was. But, thinking about it for a moment, he was right. Henry was a father figure to me, playing the part when my own could not. Dean was my twin brother, supporting me when I could not stand on my own two feet. I drank in whirls, drank myself into a hole many times over, and forgot about them for a while. But, they always came back to me. Were they not ghosts now, free to wander and appear to us in dreams and reality? They were still a part of me, no matter what I did to forget them.

I smiled. "You're right, Sidney. I came in here, hoping to see Dean and then forget about him again. But now, I guess coming back here will always bring him back in some way, through my memories, but honoring him seems more like what I should do and what he would want. He wouldn't want me to mourn for him forever. And I knew it from the start, but I could not help it. I miss him."

"We all do, Jeanie. We all do." Sidney then picked up his drink, motioning that I do the same. I hesitated, but when I finally did – the glass not so menacing anymore, the good news about Hawkeye already told – we both toasted and drank.

"That was for Dean and everything I went through with him," I said after emptying my glass. Picking up the next one, I added, "This one is for Hawkeye and our future life together. Let's hope he'll be more than ok when he comes out. I want him, no matter what condition he's in. We'll heal together."

I emptied the second glass just as quickly as the first, astonished that I could drink so much and yet, feel so good at the same time, feeling like I was _healing_. But, when I started to finally tear up and cry once more, I shook my head and laughed with Sidney, knowing that I was still mending slowly, functioning better than before.

Hawkeye and I could do it together. I knew it.


	32. Something in Common

During the time that Hawkeye was with Sidney still, many things happened at the 4077th, things that would change everybody's life and leave a mark in the others' for many years to come. I'm sure it's so well known, but I must remember it all, for my own sake. It's the end of the war. I can't just forget about that. It was too important to forget those days when we actually began to hope once more and remember our lives back home…

Things in the camp began to fall apart, quite literally. Because of the number of Koreans in the camp (whichever side they are on), supplies ran low, especially medical and food supplies. Food, though, was the most prized thing in the world, even though the Mess Tent had been serving garbage since the beginning of the war. The Army could only give us so much food, so we had to ration a little. It wasn't bad, but at the same time, everybody grumbled (I had learned, long ago, to eat little, but I don't think this rationing of food helped my stomach). If it wasn't the quality, it was the lack of food! We always had complaints…as did the Korean refugees and P.O.W.'s. It seemed like a no-win situation here!

War news was scarce, too, and rumors always flooded into the camp, as always (Klinger trying to get _something_ when he called I-Corp). The Koreans even chattered in their language, adding fuel to the fire, which made some of us think that, perhaps, the war was not going to be over as they said it was. They knew, perhaps better than we understood, that we would never leave their country and the politics behind our Western World will destroy them.

_Maybe they were right. Maybe we were staying here longer?_ It was a constant thought. We all wanted to go home and the locals wanted their land back. And, most certainly, after three years, some agreement could come, right? We could continue to hope and wish…hoping and wishing. It was all we could do.

Charles was hoping for a cozy position at Boston Hospital and became distraught because he was over here and not over in Boston, without a say in the decision and a way to defend himself. Not so, says Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan, who comes to his rescue. She pulled some strings for Charles (a family friend was on the Board, I believe) and helped him get that position he wanted. When he found out that she did all that for him, he was furious, as usual. Charles Emerson Winchester _the Third _could not get over the fact that somebody helped him, even someone like Margaret, a lady and a _nurse_ at that.

So, the two argued about it, eventually ranting on, as well, about a poetry book (a volume in a set of books) that Charles considered being romantic rubbish and Margaret too inspiring, a balm on her wounded soul. Elizabeth Barrett Browning's _Songs of the Portuguese _also appealed to my mushy romantic side (I had read it when Lorraine Blake was home schooling me), making me argue on Margaret's side, but to no avail. Charles Winchester was not going to be moved, stubborn as a rock in the storm.

Not to mention, after a wounded man came into the compound in his tank (knocking over the latrines, as well), Charles had found some odd comfort from a group. While he used the woods to relieve himself (as the new latrine was being built…again), five Chinese musicians came up to him (the Major thinking that they were going to attack him) and followed him back to the camp, playing music with their instruments, their motorcycle being dragged behind them. Of course, all five came willingly and surrendered, becoming our prisoners and Charles' new music students.

In the meantime, Charles needed them as a distraction from the "uncivilized" world (like, for example, B.J. annoying him by painting the motorcycle the Chinese musicians brought yellow), especially playing Mozart. In the Mess Tent, with an M.P. around to watch the new prisoners, Charles had the Chinese musicians play for him, showing only irritation at their lack of skills at playing his kind of music (Mozart), but hiding the true feelings of his inner being: still being in hell.

Klinger had already found love (after a bitter divorce and hearing that his best friend married his ex-wife, Laverne Esposito) in the form of Soon-Lee. She loved him back, too, especially for all of the things that he did for her. However, Soon-Lee was restless, wanting to find her missing family. She constantly escaped the camp, even though there was enemy fire everywhere. And silly Klinger, in his uncanny ability to show care, followed Soon-Lee, even persuading her (after a long chase to find her) to come back to the 4077th before she got hurt. She agreed and the two luckily got back into camp, but the search for Soon-Lee's family will continue. I can already tell that Klinger is torn between leaving Soon-Lee behind and staying in Korea to help her.

Margaret has been in and out, thinking about going into different directions since her father started sending her letters, telling her about various comfortable Army positions he was sure to secure for her when she leaves Korea. Excited, as usual, Margaret allowed herself to be pulled from one end of the world to the next, but her long, hard lesson was to be her own person and to control her own destiny. She _was_ a Regular Army nut, hiding in the darkness behind old Frank "Ferret Face" Burns, the Army her life, an excuse not to lighten up. Then, a step downward, she went after Donald Penobscott, with disastrous results. Now, after remaining by herself for almost a year, she's still under the thumb of another man. And I know, deep down, that old Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan was never meant for that, even with her own father, Generals aside. By the end of the war, I hope to find her free in the perfect happily-ever-after situation. She deserves the best in her life.

B.J., as usual, worries and complains about how he won't be there for Erin's second birthday. He's missed a lot in his two years in Korea – anniversaries, birthdays, milestones in Erin's young life – and, when he got a notice to go home, he was ecstatic! He then asked around, asking the people who had been at the 4077th longer than he had, if it was ok to go home. Passing around a picture of Erin in the Mess Tent, he made a _wonderful_ speech about his little girl, saying how unfair it might be for him to go home, and if we could all just let him go. Naturally, the reception was warm (I wasn't quite comprehending it and just nodded my head) and B.J. left happy, but in a hurry to find his replacement and to get a ride to Kimpo, Tokyo, Guam and San Francisco. Mill Valley was just over the line, two girls waiting for him to finally come home.

However, just like Trapper, B.J. left without saying goodbye to Hawkeye (even when he visited Hawkeye at the psych ward, he was told not say tell his bunkmate about leaving Korea), not even writing a note to him, no time left to spare. Finding a ride with the mail deliverer, B.J. had five minutes to pack up and head out. He managed to do it and say goodbye to everybody, promising his replacement for the morning shift, and left by chopper, looking down on all of us, waving a silent goodbye. However, at the last moment, Klinger came up to Colonel Potter, trying to tell him that B.J.'s discharge papers were reversed and that he had to stay. Our good Colonel chose not to hear it, making Klinger "forget" it as well.

Colonel Potter had always been the same, ordering us around and silently celebrating along with us. Ordering a bigger barracks for the P.O.W.'s (along with more accommodations for them) and trying to get the refugees to move along to a more centralized location (someplace more south, as he was ordered to tell them), Colonel Potter had been humane, fair and, as always, a generally good C.O. He even remained quiet, busting his ass and making sure that we were ok, especially after that tank rolled into the camp with the wounded soldier in it. We, as a unit, couldn't do much with the tank, since nobody in camp could drive it, so we became sitting ducks once more. Enemy fire drew into the camp because they thought the risk was worth it. The Colonel debated what to do, but could not figure it out just yet, even after Klinger tried putting a tent over it.

Father Mulcahy, administering to all mankind, was a savior. During one of the times we had enemy fire because of the tank, he ran out himself, to help to free the prisoners kept at the compound, but instead of the prisoners being wounded, the poor Padre was knocked out himself after an explosion went off near him. Diagnosed with a mild concussion as he was brought in, Father Mulcahy found out that he could not hear much, a normal voice a mumble to him. I overheard B.J. talking with him, a shadow in the doorway of Pre-Op, eavesdropping and making sure that he was ok. It was wrong, yes, but it was a necessary wrong.

However, when I heard the promise the Padre made B.J. swear, I did the same. I quietly decided to keep the same promise, making sure the he could stay with his orphans, the real children that kept the Padre busy during the war.

And there was I in the middle of all of this – shaking, working and even hoping – walking around the camp, just like a spy I used to be. I listened to the gossip, cajoled everybody in their plans and schemes and celebrated each day, a bright new day bringing new things. I felt so alone in the Swamp, though, my head spinning from the unbelievable events surrounding me, and I found it harder to believe in everything going on. Charles was busy with his Chinese musicians, B.J. was heading home and Hawkeye was at the Funny Farm with Sidney. I had the center tent to myself, but yet…yet, something was missing.

Soon, though, it was to be gone. The war was going to be over soon and nothing could be done to stop it. Thank God. _Thank God._

~00~

Whirls, colors and whizzes…how else could I describe it? Everything moved faster and faster than ever before. Days wound down, the countdown began again and people congested together, eager to say goodbye for a final time. However, the final horrors of war came back to us, the events going past us like the wind that could not stop to think. Oh, the war was not over yet. It was not over until _they_ said it was. And God, did it _drag_…

About a week after Sidney talked to me – the day was July 24, 1953 – Hawkeye came back to the 4077th, his surgery skills successfully back to par as he tried once more to take over sanity and won it back in most ways. I posted multiple signs at the camp's entrance for his return (with some help from the camp, of course, who helped me with the wording when I could not think of the end of some verses) and even laughed, rejoicing in his swift recovery: "Hawk was gone, now he's here/Dance 'til dawn, give a cheer/Burma Shave."

Soon enough, Hawkeye's sanity was challenged. During and after surgery (after he returned), the enemy fire came back (the tank still in the compound, causing them to fire on us), three rounds and more to come. It was about a day after Hawkeye, with no other replacement surgeon in sight (nobody came to substitute for B.J.), returned – laughing, stronger and perhaps restoring his old self even though he was pissed about B.J. leaving – and already, he had operated on soldiers and children. So far, there had been no arguments about "smothering" them.

After an explosion in the O.R. session's finale (the first that Hawkeye came back to), Charles said, "I thought we had a system here. They fire three rounds and they move on."

"Wait a minute, what happened to that pattern they had of firing off three rounds and then going away?" Father Mulcahy repeated, still not hearing anything most of the time. He had yet to tell everybody about going deaf. B.J. had kept his secret well and so was I.

"Good question…again." Charles sounded exasperated.

"Aren't those idiots afraid of being spotted?" Margaret asked.

"I guess they figure the tank's worth the risk." Colonel Potter sounded confused, comforting all of us even as another explosion sounded off.

"Or maybe they brought in a second mortar squad," Margaret mused.

"Or maybe a third," Charles suggested, sounding as if he was correcting Margaret.

"Well, the 'more-tar' merrier, ha, ha, ha!" Hawkeye exclaimed, everyone turning to face him.

I was holding onto Hawkeye when he randomly went a little nuts, making his usual jokes as everyone became serious around him. However, something in his movements – the way he let me go when we heard another explosion – said that he was up to something. What it was, we were going to see in a few minutes, when Hawkeye would get up and do something crazy. After all, Colonel Potter thought that his leave from the Funny Farm was a little premature…

After we heard yet another explosion outside (hugging sandbags), Hawkeye finally said, "Okay, boys and girls, time to do something intelligent." He stood up, leaving me on the floor, all alone again. "Since I seem to be the only intelligent person here, I nominate me. All in favor, say 'aye'."

"Take your seat, Pierce!" Colonel Potter ordered sharply.

As I stared up at Hawkeye, wishing that he would do as he was told and yet, at the same time, knowing what he was going to do (and possibly die in the effort), he replied to Colonel Potter, an unusually insane tone to his voice: frantic, worried and even frank. "Uh-uh, sorry, sorry. I can take umbrage, I can take the cake, I can take the 'A' train, I can take two and call me in the morning, but I cannot take this sitting down. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take five."

And with that, Hawkeye ran out of the O.R., Margaret, Kellye, Father Mulcahy, Colonel Potter and I right behind him, standing behind the wall of sandbags in front of the doorway. As we watched, the Chief Surgeon quickly hopped into the tank and, without a clue on how to drive it (just like Frank Burns only a year ago), somehow got it started. Running over the newly built latrine and destroying it (we all yelled and groaned, but there were more important matters to consider), we watched Hawkeye take the tank out of the camp and down the road (towards enemy fire!), where we threw our garbage. Parking it _right there_, Hawkeye hopped out of the tank, unharmed, and walked back to camp amid cheers and clapping.

"I don't know why I always have to take out the trash!" Hawkeye exclaimed as he came towards the O.R., winking at me as people laughed.

Looking right at him (he was staring back at me), I mouthed, "You couldn't have gotten killed out there!"

Hawkeye just tilted his head at me and laughed, taking in the applause from the camp, obviously drinking in the praise, laughter and appreciation the unit had for him. For three years, he helped us stick together. Now, it was our turn to help him and to return the favor. But, in doing so (nobody thinking of the serious consequences of what Hawkeye did), it made me mad as hell, thinking that he could have died, without ever thinking of what could happen. Something seemed wrong, but at the same time, Hawkeye did an intelligent thing and saved the camp: one man working to save a whole.

It seemed like the Korean mother with her baby on the bus and Hawkeye Pierce with an Army tank finally had something in common.

"I wonder if his discharge from the hospital was a bit premature," Father Mulcahy randomly said to Colonel Potter.

"I'm putting in a call to Sidney," Colonel Potter only replied, turning around to go inside, still thinking that Hawkeye was crazy.


	33. The War is Over! The War is Over!

The next day, Klinger and Colonel Potter noticed a bright glow to the eastern side of the camp (not the west, as Klinger thought it was a sunset), up in the mountains and woods above us. The Colonel mentioned that he saw it once before, up in the Ardenne Forest, and the next day, that brought fire and destruction. So, knowing this, he ordered that the whole unit bug out almost immediately, despite the wounded coming and going, the war coming to an end soon and the unit being short of one surgeon.

Settling down a few miles south, Colonel Potter ordered that we set up camp, but we had no O.R. or permanent place to put the refugees and P.O.W.'s. We could not operate on the wounded that came in and could only take on the less serious cases. We also could not keep rowdy Koreans (North and South) around us. Knowing this, the Colonel ordered that the prisoners leave (Charles was devastated, listening to his Chinese musicians play Mozart correctly for him as they left) and we waited a while, until the fires settled down, before moving back to the main location and cleaning up what was destroyed.

In the meantime (it was July 26, 1953), we were to have another barbeque, since the weather was nice and hot. It helped, as well, when B.J. came back by chopper as our surgeon (he and Hawkeye made up quickly, Hawkeye only saying that he thought B.J. was in the bathroom the whole time) and was volunteered to be the "Hot Dog Man" for the barbeque.

That day was also his daughter's birthday on our side of the world. Erin Hunnicutt was two years old here in Korea.

In honor of little Erin's birthday, we all chipped in and made a cake for the girl, but also for a little Korean orphan girl. She had no family and no known birthday, but looked to be around Erin's age. So, we let B.J. hold her as they blew out the candles together, B.J. commenting how beautiful it was that somebody was given a birthday: the greatest gift of all.

I was in the crowds next to Hawkeye, laughing, clapping and enjoying myself (and realizing how special the day was), but soon enough, when the cake's candles were being blown out, Love walked out, alone and sad. He walked down a deserted road, only to be joined by Sidney, who had found us a few days after Colonel Potter's phone call. I did not follow them to eavesdrop, but walked away from the jubilation, in a tiny corner in the trees, and just watched as the duo ambled down that road, talking about something. From the way Sidney talked to Hawkeye, it seemed like he was reassuring Love about everything, how things will be ok (they could have talked about the tank incident, for all I knew, but I left my spying skills to rest). But, all I could tell, from their body expressions, was that they just talked, one man to the next, and they took comfort in the other, Hawkeye mostly from Sidney.

I only smiled widely, thinking of how slow this was taking. I didn't care, only that Hawkeye wasn't as crazy as he was. There was something he could look forward to, but at the same time, there was still a small child who waited for her Daddy and Mommy, wondering why she was living with her grandfather, telling that little girl how much they loved her and wished that they, too, would come home soon. Mommy always loved the little girl and would cherish her always, but Daddy was going to have a hard time with her, an incident in his mind, not comprehending in hers, that might keep him away for a while.

I didn't know what else to do. As the sun beat down on me, my sunburns of the holiday before bothering me again, I thought about Shannon, my pretty little daughter who possibly missed me. Then, I looked to the little Korean girl eating her cake, giggling as she shoved it on her face. Without meaning to, I felt tears come down my face: a mother's own longing.

~00~

The camp spent a peaceful night at the new location (the newly built Swamp didn't have the same accommodations as the last one, but it was dirty enough for Charles) and woke up early enough to hear more about the war and the orders to bug back to our original location, on orders of Colonel Potter. That day brought us news, though, the best kind there was. It took three years for the news to come, but it was welcoming to all: beautiful words that told us that we were going home. It was Monday, July 27, 1953.

I was outside by myself (the Swampmen in their tent), walking around the camp's perimeter and thinking again, when I heard an announcement from the P.A. system, something that perked up my ears, made me stop to listen. "Ladies and gentlemen, five minutes ago, at ten-oh-one this morning, the truce was signed in Panmunjom. The hostilities will end twelve hours from now, at ten o'clock. The war is over!"

The last sentence was shouted, glee and obvious jubilance in the voice. With that, the whole camp came out of their hiding spots and rejoiced, hearing the news finally. Their wishes – as well as mine – had all come true.

_The war is over! The war is over!_ The song was sung over and over again, people jumping up and down, cursing the war, dancing in circles. _The war is over! The war is over!_

B.J. came out of the Swamp, screaming at the top of his lungs with a joy I've never seen in him before. Then, as I turned around, I saw Kellye come out from the Mess Tent. I took her hands as she saw me and ran towards me, dancing with her as the news was spread across the camp. Everybody heard it, seeing the end of Korea in sight, _tasting _their freedom for the first time in a long time.

I ran back into the Swamp as Kellye and I let go and ran in the opposite direction, screaming (the elation in my voice apparent). "Hawkeye, the war is over! Love, the war is over!"

Hawkeye had been resting on his cot (almost sleeping), not really paying attention, but hearing the words anyhow. "The war is over?" he asked me dumbly, sounding almost stupid from sleep. "The war is over? It's truly over?"

I went over to him and took his hands. "Yes, Hawkeye, the war is over. It's truly all over. It's a ceasefire. It's _real_ this time. No more war!"

B.J. barged into the tent again, also screaming. "Whoo! The war is over!" And, with that, the other surgeon of the Swamp ran out, yelling about the end of the war and dancing outside once more.

Hawkeye and I looked at each other, the both of us smiling and still holding hands.

"So, I guess we'd better start packing up again?" I asked, knowing that Colonel Potter was going to dampen our spirits and tell us to get going so that we could clean up the fire's own warpath and make camp for perhaps another day or so. Obviously, there seemed to be no point in it, seeing as how the war was over, but we had to. We had one more day left, perhaps.

"I guess so, if Potter wants us to." Hawkeye seemed listless, _exhausted_, but happy. And I totally understood it. I understood it _completely_, as if I was feeling it myself.

~00~

The wounded kept coming and coming. As soon as the camp packed up and headed back to Uijongbu, we saw the fire's destruction and patched the compound up quickly, knowing that the wounded would keep coming, as always. Already, we had some with us, coming through on chopper, but they needed more attention than we could give them at our bug-out location. We needed to work and we needed to work _fast_.

Sidney with us as an appointed orderly, the camp came back together in an instant. Tents were erected. Supplies were replaced. The only building for the camp was untouched (miracles of miracles!) and it was easier for us as we transported the wounded into Pre-Op and into the O.R. Surgeries began again. More soldiers came and went, Post-Op starting to fill up once more. We were nonstop again, peace around the corner and yet…yet…the war's wounded still on our doorstep, knocking on the door and asking if they could escape, too, escape the Grim Reaper.

Charles found out that his five musicians were gone, dead and gone. Four had not survived the ride to their destination, but the last one – the flutist, I believe – came to the camp barely alive, as if to haunt Charles, to teach him another lesson about war. As Kellye and I stood to one side, triage duty on our backs for probably the final time, we saw the snobbish surgeon next to us break down, told to take a break, knowing that the last man was not to live. Then, we watched the man walk to the Swamp, his bloodied white gown still on, and sit down by his phonograph, taking out a record and putting it on the turntable.

It was the piece that Charles was teaching the Chinese musicians a couple of weeks before. It was _Mozart_.

Suddenly, though, Charles _changed_. Usually, he relaxes with his music, almost like taking a walk in the woods as it played, making him shut up. But, his reaction was different. Taking the record off while it was playing, the surgeon held the thin, black disk in his hands and smashed it in anger and frustration, knowing that music was no longer his refuge. It was another reminder of war, a reminder of what he was to leave behind and what he had taught towards its end.

Major Charles Emerson Winchester the Third was now a changed man.

After watching Charles break down like that, I went back into the O.R. with Kellye, taking my place with the other doctors, nurses and orderlies, listening to the news from Robert Pierpoint and the Armed Forces Radio. I counted the hours down as we worked and listened anxiously, to ten o'clock in the evening, to say that I was there when the war was over, my mind with it when the announcement was heard twelve hours later…

From June 25, 1950 to July 27, 1953 (the war from start to finish), there were, in total, as I've heard: 33,629 dead U.S. soldiers, 103,284 wounded U.S. soldiers, 5.178 missing/captured U.S. soldiers, about 1,347,000 dead Communist soldiers, over 400,000 Korean civilians killed, about 100,000 Korean orphans and over 3,000,000 _homeless_ Korean civilians. And that doesn't sound the U.N. Forces: 71,500 killed in combat, 83,263 missing/captured and over 250,000 wounded. Not to mention, the U.S. itself spent over twenty-two _billion_ dollars on the war, a total waste on a small country.

"_This is Robert Pierpoint speaking to you from Panmunjom. It's one minute before ten P.M. We can still hear the sound of nearby artillery. At some point during the next few seconds, the guns should go silent as the ceasefire officially goes into effect."_

There were six more seconds of explosions and shooting over the radio, which had been normal to all of us for quite some time, some of us taking it for the whole war as it stood outside the windows, outside in the rain, waiting for us. Then, finally, there was _silence_: the sound we had been waiting for, something we had been anticipating for quite some time now. It was really the sound of silence.

"_There it is. That's the sound of peace…"_

Before Sidney left us a few minutes later, the war finally ended, he said his final words to us, words I remembered from a long ago, when Henry was alive. "You know, I told you people something a long time ago, and it's just as pertinent today as it was then. Ladies and gentlemen, take my advice: pull down your pants and slide on the ice."


	34. Counting Down the Hours

Laughter, games, goodbyes, joy, love and cheer: it was a party I could never forget. Later that night, after the patients had been resting in Post-Op, waiting to be transferred to the 8063rd M*A*S*H the next day, we all had a party to celebrate the end of the war. It was about midnight when the celebrations were under way, lasting until the morning light told us to buggy out of Korea, our rides and stopovers lined up for us.

My orders had come in, just as promised and planned: I had a chopper to bring me out of the camp (just like Hawkeye), off to Kimpo for the plane to Tokyo, then to Guam, San Francisco and Peoria, Illinois, where Lorraine is picking me up (I phoned her quickly and she said she would pick me and Hawkeye up). Afterward, Hawkeye and I will take maybe two days (maybe a day, depending on things) in Bloomington and take a plane out of there, to Maine, where Daniel Pierce will pick us up.

As the festivities settled down in the early hours of the morning, Colonel Potter stood up, got our attention and asked all of us what we were planning as we go home. He mentioned that he was going home, to be a semi-retired country doctor, being Mrs. Potter's husband at last. He was retired from the Army, this being his last war, and will no longer be traveling from place to place anymore. He had grandchildren to play with, children to worry about and a patient wife that stayed with him for many years even though he took the Army as a steady career.

Many of the nurses said they would continue in nursing when they went home (Kellye included, who was going home to Hawaii), but some said that they were done. One mentioned that she had seen too much death and could not continue it. Another said she wanted a change, to be a nurse in pediatrics or midwifery because she wanted to bring life into the world and watch them leave it. Margaret, though, surprised me most of all out of all the nurses. She said that she would continue nursing, but that instead of being told to go from one place to the next, she wanted a normal job in the States, being a nurse in a big city hospital. Mentioning that she was like her father in many ways, she decided to make her own footprints in the sand and to be her own woman at last.

B.J. joked around about meeting a woman down at the Officers' Club at Guam and thinking about running away with her (I laughed), but of course, did not. He said that his wife and daughter were still waiting for him to come home and that was what he planned: going home. He still wanted to be a doctor, we figured, but being home with his family (parents, cousins, his younger sister and her kids, etc.) and seeing Erin grow up and being with his wife were the number one things on his major to-do list.

Hawkeye, ever the jokester, said that he was going to take a long break and then head back to work, getting to know his patients and not seeing him run off home or back to the Front. Making mention is trying to get his family together (motioning to me at his side) and making right to his wife and daughter, he addressed the nurses out there (being the skirt chaser for just a moment) by saying, "I can't say I've loved you all, either…but I've loved as many of you as I could."

Father Mulcahy finally let up on his secret in a way, his hearing a problem and apparent to all close to him. He said, "I was anxious to get back to the parish and coaching boxing for the C.Y.O., but lately, I've gotten kind of interested in working with the deaf. Of course, not doing parish work. I'll miss hearing confession, but after listening to you people for so long, I think I've just about heard it all!"

Laughter filled the tent. "You haven't even heard the last of it!" I yelled, putting my head on Hawkeye's shoulder and cracking up, giggling as I drank a deep gulp of alcohol, the gin running down into my stomach, settling me down.

A change in tone was coming in the form of the last Swampman. Charles stood up, clearly shaken by the death of the last Chinese musician still, and was quiet for a moment. Then, he said, "Well, I'm going to be head of Thoracic Surgery at Boston Mercy Hospital, so my life will go on pretty much as I expected, with one exception. For me, music was always a refuge from this miserable experience, and now it will always be a reminder."

His last sentence almost cracking, I noticed how Charles was taken by his experiences here, how this war had changed him from the pompous man to the humbled. The tent even quieted down, realizing of how much Charles had changed, as well.

And around and around the answers went until it was my turn. I stood up, smiling, saying, "At the beginning of this war, I was miserable, like everybody else here. I was misplaced, only wishing a word with the former C.O. this camp, my own father figure, and a kind hand that would offer itself to me. Well, I got that and more than I bargained for. I have a daughter now, a husband that needs my attention, and a new home that needs love and care. I have had the 'trip' of a lifetime, and it's more than enough for me after years and years of being in the Army."

I paused, taking a deep breath. "Today, when I look back on three years of living in Korea…I look back with regret and great sadness, but also happiness. This war has all of us brought more lessons and traumas that will live in our hearts forever. And without most of you here to be when it all happened – and you know who you are – I probably wouldn't be here today."

The Mess Tent went quiet, mumbling even gone. So, finished, I sat down, waiting for the last person to talk, Klinger. He had been mum all night, so everybody was surprised when he added after me, "Well, I planned something, but it kind of fell through. I guess you noticed Soon-Lee isn't here tonight. It's because she had a lot of things to take care of. 'Cause we've decided to get married."

Suddenly, the whole tent came up in celebrate, congratulations coming and going to Klinger. I heard Hawkeye yell, "Yay!"

"Congratulations!" B.J. added behind him.

"I had to cut through a lot of red tape, but I got permission" Klinger continued, shaking his head. "The only problem is, she won't leave Korea until she finds her family. So, boy, I don't believe I'm saying this. I'm staying in Korea."

"Oh, my God, Klinger, you can't be serious!" I shouted, laughing like most of the camp when hearing that from the former cross dresser that tried to get out on a Section Eight. Klinger staying in Korea was actually hilarious, really.

But love always overcame everything. It always did.

"You don't have to act crazy now," Hawkeye said after me. "We're all getting out!"

We all laughed afterward, knowing that the hours were ticking in a downward spiral. It had to be the happiest night in our lives, especially after this whole war and what had changed inside all of us. A piece of us had been taken away from us, a part of us that would never be innocent again. We had seen too much life and death to know that it always took away children and made them into adults. God, and we weren't childlike anymore. We had seen it all.

~00~

Soon-Lee and Klinger's wedding the next morning was short and wonderful, work still to be done to dismantle the camp and people needing to get along with their respective rides. With Colonel Potter as the Best Man and Margaret as the Matron of Honor (I took the back seat with Hawkeye in the crowds, holding onto him and remembering ours from over a month ago), Soon-Lee and Klinger were married by Father Mulcahy. A wagon to bring them on their honeymoon and onto the search for Soon-Lee's family, the couple boarded and loaded up their luggage, saying their goodbyes and thanks to everybody.

Soon after the party broke up, though, the camp was taken apart for the last time. Everybody had their things packed up and ready to go, so it was a matter of getting the tents apart, seeing as how they are military property, even the Swamp. It almost made me giggle to think that the Army was now stuck with a smelly, old tent as property again, especially one as desecrated as the Swamp. It would either be a relic or garbage to them, thrown away like everything like that was messy.

Tearful goodbyes were said (even to me, of all people!), contact information was given out and hugs and kisses were even exchanged (Hawkeye even kissed Margaret for about a minute as Charles, B.J. Colonel Potter and I looked on, making everybody but me uncomfortable, laughing for some reason). The signs by the Swamp were taken apart (Kellye yelled about getting her hometown from it, Honolulu), save for Seoul and Tokyo. Margaret made way for the 8063rd with Father Mulcahy, who yelled that he'll pray for us. Charles wanted to swing an axe to the Swamp, but had no time, as his ride with the garbage truck was ready, not being able to ride with Margaret. However, in the end, before the former Head Nurse headed to her stopover, Charles kissed her hand and gave her the poetry book, _Songs of the Portuguese_ by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

After most everybody left, with Colonel Potter, Hawkeye, B.J. and I standing around like idiots, we said our farewells in some way. The three of us Captains saluted Colonel Potter as he climbed up on his horse, Sophie, for the final time (he was giving it to the orphans as a gift, since he could not take her home with him). The gesture was more from Hawkeye and B.J. than from me, since the two don't really follow Army protocol, but the Colonel was pleased and emotional, taking it to heart. He even saluted us back, telling us he had the time of his life in Korea with us in it. Of course, it would have never been the same for him if we were not there. After all, the Colonel was always laughing on the inside and yelling at us on the outside.

As the three of us watched the back of Colonel Potter and Sophie disappear down the road to the orphanage, Hawkeye, B.J. and I stood there again, quiet. Then, I heard a chopper, _my chopper_. It was my ride out of this loony bin, this place which made me crazy and grief stricken, which made me remember _everything_. It was a place of many memories, a place I could never forget. It was also the place that I will probably never see again, a hell that we could never return to. And it made me _smile_ to think about it.

I suddenly, on impulse, jumped on B.J., putting my arms around him and swinging, just like what I did to Henry from times and times before. I heard the blonde surgeon gasp, as if he was taken by surprise, but then he finally put his arms around me as I settled down against him, a couple of inches off of the ground, my petite figure hardly heavy to him: a feather in the wind.

"Damn, you're light," B.J. muffled as I hugged him.

"So everybody has told me," I replied, tears coming down my face.

"Oh, Jeanie, thanks for everything." B.J.'s voice was breaking up, his final farewell to Hawkeye yet to come. "You know, I can't –"

I looked into B.J.'s eyes. "I understand you can't say it. So, I'll say it. Thank you. Goodbye. You've made this place a little more bearable, a little brighter. I'll miss you very much. We'll see each other soon. I swear that we will. There will come a time."

"We will," he agreed, letting me drop to the ground as the chopper pilot called out my name and told me to hurry up. "Get along now. Your ride is here."

"I will." I kissed B.J.'s forehead as I jumped up quickly, grabbing my bags from where the Swamp used to be in a flash. Then, on second thought, I came back, I hugging B.J. one last time, tears still on my face, and then went to Hawkeye, kissing him deeply.

"See you in Kimpo, Love," I added, turning again to B.J. for one last time, waving. "Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye."

I walked up the hill to my chopper slowly (seeing another coming down to land for Hawkeye) and climbed on in as the pilot motioned me in, taking my last look of the dismantled camp, the ghost town full of skeleton frames and dust. I buckled up as the last chopper landed for Love, holding onto my bags of things, old things that I carried with me since I was eighteen years old and new things that I carried with me when I came here in the sunset summer of 1950. These all were the reminders of my career and the one war I went through and came out, surviving.

As the chopper rose up and moved onward, I looked behind me, as if to see the past for one last time, and closed my eyes as I saw "Goodbye" written in stones, a final farewell from B.J. to everybody, Hawkeye most of all. The hot air came in and out of the chopper, the wind kicking through the trees and bushes. It made me open my eyes, seeing, perhaps for the first time ever, the quiet countryside of Korea: the one time I saw it at peace.

* * *

**There are more chapters after this, but it's not going to be overly long, but skimming through things. It'll be a few more chapters. So, please keep reading and reviewing. Postwar years, here I come!**


	35. Horrors

I met up with Hawkeye in Kimpo just in time for our flight at three o'clock in the afternoon, using Korean time for the last time. We boarded the plane together, our luggage in the back, and sat down for the last ride through Korea. Around us were various soldiers and other personnel of the Army, Marines, Air Force and even the Navy, chattering and making a ruckus as the plane took off, flew and landed in Tokyo, the Sea of Japan sending shivers down my spine, as always. The same happened as we boarded for the next planes in Tokyo, Guam and San Francisco.

Holding hands and traveling in our Army uniforms, Hawkeye and I were as silent as ghosts, holding onto our secrets in our hearts, hugging them closely. We could not speak.

By the time we reached the United States and finally stepped down in San Francisco (missing B.J. because he had a different flight and we had another flight within the hour), I felt like I was home again. I had not stepped on American soil in three years, ever since I snuck back into the country to say goodbye to my mother and stepfather for the final time before going to Korea. Just getting off of the plane and walking through all of the wives, children and parents awaiting their young soldiers made me full of longing, as if it was not all real. _It could not be._

Hawkeye and I were alive in body, just barely mind. We were married, husband and wife, with a child and father waiting for us on the other side of the country and yet…yet, we could do nothing more than sneak tears down our faces, the only expressions of pain we could show to each other and the public. More people could have been saved, we were thinking. More of those soldiers coming back from Korea could have come home to all of this – welcome, love, joy, beauty – but, they had to come home with the American flag on top of their final covered bed, a cold coffin covering up their misdeeds in the game called war.

_War is hell_. Oh, God, war was hell. And it's all over now.

~00~

_August 1, 1953  
Bloomington, Illinois_

_So, here Hawkeye and I are: home, the nighttime creatures creaking outside of the windows downstairs, a story up from their travels of old. Or, I should say, the place I was supposed to call home with its creepy crawlies. We are leaving tomorrow afternoon, leaving with my things and without my mother wiping her tear-stricken cheeks with the final farewell, seeing her daughter put another footprint in the sands of life – another imprint on the beach._

_I'll write this quickly, so forgive me, Journal. The night is still young, but this old body needs to rest her weary bones…_

_It all started yesterday, after we arrived down at Peoria Airport, Lorraine and the children were there still, waiting for us. As soon as Hawkeye and I walked down the runway and into the airport waiting room, where people were still waiting for relatives and soldiers, I saw her and the children, standing there waiting for us: Lorraine, Andrew, Molly and Janie._

_Molly spotted us first. Well, she knew me, so she just saw me through the crowds (taller than ever before and only fourteen years old) and pointed me out to the others, yelling, "Jeanie! Jeanie! Jeanie!" She then ran to me, bumping into everybody as she did, and jumped, landing on top of me, knocking me over, making me laugh._

"_Wow, Molly, you're so big!" I exclaimed, Hawkeye smiling and laughing as I laid there, a child (really) on my chest._

"_Yeah, oh, my gosh, and look, we're all here!" The words from the child seemed to have run into one word, a sentence of giggles and happiness._

_I finally stood up, carrying Molly up with me (although, I could say, she was almost as tall as I was) and placing her upright, squinting to see her as Hawkeye whistled, muttering something about Henry. Like Lorraine (and Janie, for that matter), she has wavy blonde hair and Henry's blue eyes. She held herself like her father even: slouching a little, laughing mouth and eyes and seeing the pleasures of life. I wouldn't be surprised if she started drinking, a fun drunk like Henry was._

"_Jeanie, Jeanie, Jeanie! I missed you, Jeanie!"_

_Twelve-year-old Janie also ran to me, but did not knock me over like her sister did. Instead, she hugged me gently, knowing all that happened to us in the war, and stood back to look at me as her arms remained wrapped around me. Then, she went to Hawkeye and hugged him, too (he was a little surprised, to say the least, and hesitated, as if he could kill a child with his arms), giving him all of the love that she could muster._

_And then, there was Lorraine. Walking slowly towards us, with little Andrew in her arms (a miniature Henry in appearance, to be sure!), she danced gracefully, soundlessly, as she came to us, her other arm opened to hug me, seeing that I was whole once more, unharmed and not dead like Henry. Then, she embraced Hawkeye as Janie moved aside, the child in her other arm sleeping and oblivious to everything around him, even the noise._

"_You must be Hawkeye," Lorraine began awkwardly, remembering not to wake Andrew as she moved away. "I'm Henry's – well, his wife. Lorraine Blake."_

_Hawkeye took Lorraine into his arms again, sighing and even remembering Henry well. "I'm so sorry for your loss," he began._

_Lorraine pulled away. "I am, too. I am, too, Hawkeye. He was a good man."_

_Janie pulled on Lorraine's skirt as the two (Lorraine and Hawkeye) locked their eyes into each other, the poor, shy girl sticking close to her mother. "Mom, where's Mrs. Lowes? I thought that she said that she was coming."_

_My heart stopped beating, it seemed, especially when I saw Lorraine's stricken face._

"_Where is Mom?" I asked carefully, pulling my bags closer to my shoulder, slinging them both over._

"_I don't know," Lorraine admitted, Hawkeye looking a little confused, nervous even (I think it was the children more than Lorraine and I talking about my mother). "She said that she was coming with us and was bringing your stepfather's car so that you could stuff yourselves in with her and not in the back of my car with the children. But, when I went to look for her this morning, she wasn't around. The car was there. Something was cooking slowly on the stove. But, she was not there."_

_Fear gripped my heart, but I refused to give into it. A car in the driveway and something cooking on the stove could mean many things, I figured. Mom could have gone to church and fell asleep in her pew by accident. She could have taken a long walk alone, just like she used to. She could be sleeping in her room upstairs, not hearing anybody as her concoctions cooked without her._

_Or, she could be dead._

_Hawkeye saw my face, my fear at that last dreadful thought, as he picked up his bags, too. "Are you –?" he started._

"_Yes, I'm fine!" I interrupted, panicking._

"_Why don't we head to the car then?" Lorraine asked nervously herself, the children (Molly and Janie) starting to get rowdy and impatient. So, we followed her through the soldiers, the relatives even, that crowded the airport, congesting every space possible._

_The ride back to Bloomington, while taking a while, was chatty. While Andrew slept in Molly's lap (Janie was in mine, heavy as ever, Hawkeye in the front passenger seat as Lorraine drove), we old 4077th M*A*S*H personnel told everything that we could about the war (leaving out the gory details) and spoke kindly about Henry. The girls were anxious to hear about their father, the father that was alive for their short lives as if it was a dream. They giggled when they heard some funny stories, like how Radar had Henry sign papers for the discharge of "Private Charles Lamb", them getting stuck in the showers together when a sniper hit the camp or some other fun story._

_I made no mention of Leslie Dish, Henry's little fling with Nancy Sue Parker or even his drunken escapades in intricate detail. Lorraine knew that Henry drank heavily in Korea (the phone calls said it all), but would smile weakly, even laugh a little, when we mentioned something – a light story for those present – he did when he was drunk. We thought the girls old enough to know the truth. They deserved it. However, poor little Andrew…poor child…would never know Henry, never see him alive._

_After almost two hours on the road (with Lorraine saying how lucky we were that we caught a ride to Peoria and not Chicago), Bloomington came into view. Large trees were waving their green leaves at us, the sun shining as if the war had not happened…children playing in the streets carefully, mothers hanging up laundry, ice cream trucks rolling onto roads. It was all that I remembered it, all that I could _see_ of it. I had come home to a summery season, but only…I was leaving it. I was leaving Bloomington, Illinois behind._

_Lorraine pulled into her driveway and let us go (Hawkeye practically bolted out of the car with his things), allowing us to glimpse onto the house I had not lived in since I was eighteen. It was a light blue house still, I noticed, but the upkeep had not been properly managed. Weeds were choking the yard left and right, the grass not cut in what seemed like months. As I looked to the back of the yard for some familiarity, I saw a crane perking its head up from the stream at the edge of the property. Wilder animals had settled into the property._

_Clarence had done all that for Mom, to make her pleased and proud. Now, he's dead and my mother was missing._

"_Seems like a ghost house," Hawkeye commented as he dragged his bags across the Blakes' yard and into my mother's, crossing the driveway and tall grass, slowing down as he walked up the front pathway to the door._

"_Eerily so," I replied quietly as I did the same, coming up the front door quickly and opened it (it was unlocked for some reason, a key in my pocket just in case it was locked), looking up the stairs, quiet and hallow, and seeing something hanging from the top of the stairs._

_It was a noose, empty of a body._

_I stepped inside the house, staring and resisting the urge to start screaming, my mind racing. "Hawkeye," I began, no words coming to my mouth._

_When Hawkeye shoved me playfully inside and then saw the shock on my face, he watched as I pointed up the stairs, trembling. He, too, saw the noose and was startled, to say the least._

"_Oh, God…Lorraine!" I yelled, running out the door as Hawkeye yelled something about looking for Mom for me. I myself darted to Lorraine at the door of her own home, confused (the neighbors also the same) and not understanding the words I was saying until she heard something about the noose in the upstairs hallway._

"_Oh, dear God, I knew something like this might happen," Lorraine replied calmly, panic rising in her voice. Telling Molly to watch her siblings, the two of us ran back, running through the house with Hawkeye, trying to find Mom. From bottom to top (the cellar to the bedrooms), we searched and yet_ have found nothing_._

_I crept into my old room nervously as Lorraine and Hawkeye searched the grassy backyard (the last room to be searched), finding nothing but my old bed, dresser and a baby crib, all ripped apart and destroyed, as if an axe got to it. Words and obscene pictures in red paint were above the crib on the wall, making my knees weak as I read them, screamed about them, and cried, my body crumpled to the floor. I recognized Clarence's handwriting and crude drawings on the walls, talking about my own daughter in such a way that made me, a _mother_, grief in many ways._

Shannon, the daughter of the whore, lives through the body and spirit of pleasure._ That was all it said. And the pictures depicted my stepfather raping my child, a little girl barely two months old when she left them for Trapper._

_Hawkeye found me there a few minutes later, crying on the floor. He, too, saw what I did and almost flew into a panic, shaking his head, trying hard not to collapse like I did. I saw it. But all he could do was lay down beside me, stroking my hair, telling me that they could not find my mother and maybe she would come back home. His grip also told me that he was going to kill my mother when he saw her, knowing that she harbored a rapist in her own home. Love was going to do everything in his power, despite his hesitations, to do something for Shannon, if something like that happened to her._

If_…it was a big word. There were a lot of possibilities that went along with each pathway, decisions to be made if this or that happened. Of course, I knew that revenge did not come with the characteristics of Hawkeye Pierce, but the fatherly protection of his own flesh and blood was still there, despite everything. He was ready to conquer his own fears and insecurities and make sure that his daughter was whole and healthy._

_We could do nothing more afterward but settle down, our tired selves going into the guest room (I gently closed Dean's bedroom door closed, as if to close his life together, and ignored the memories of a twin). We were leaving in a couple of days anyway, when our next flight was scheduled to take us away. Hawkeye had scheduled it that way, as if to make room for my family, but I don't think he anticipated my mother turning up missing._

_I took the food from the stove (soup in the middle of summer baffled me, but it was Mom) and served it up for dinner. Hawkeye was suspicious of it (his first real civilian dinner since before the war), but declared it tasty after taking his first bite. I muttered that anything that wasn't Army was delicious (honestly, it tasted like paste in my mouth), but Hawkeye laughed, saying that while it may be true, my mother was also an excellent cook._

_After the dust cleared later that evening (no Mom in sight still) Lorraine offered to help us pack up my things. Salvaging most of it was not worth it (my bed and dresser, along with the crib, was destroyed, as were most of the things that came with me in my travels of the last thirteen years), so I thought about taking the pieces, chopping them up into smaller pieces and taking them to the curb for removal._

_Lorraine, as she left, also said that she was cooking us breakfast the next morning and we have no choice. We better be in her kitchen with the children at eight A.M. or else she was coming over and dragging us by the ears, dressed decently or not._

"_Nothing powdered," Hawkeye begged, his old self slowly coming out._

"_Why would I even try?" Lorraine asked, smiling again, her eyes shining as we all laughed._

_I must close now, Journal. It's late and our flight is tomorrow and we've stayed here longer than we wanted to, changing our flight plans. We had a good day today (Mom has not shown up, which is good, I think, but it worried me) and the sweet summer's end here in Bloomington is coming soon. Tomorrow evening, we will be in Maine, landing in Portland and greeted by Hawkeye's Dad and our little daughter, Shannon, almost two years old._


	36. Time Will Tell

Sunday, August 2, 1953: it was raining all across the country. Ever since Hawkeye and I woke up, packed up, had breakfast with Lorraine and the children, visited Henry's final resting place and were driven to the airport (giving Lorraine and the children a tearful farewell, promising to come see her soon), it was raining. While we noticed that Mom had not appeared (which made me worried still), it didn't dampen our tired spirits as we boarded the plane, figuratively speaking. Hawkeye still wanted to strangle her with his bare hands, but when I replied that she would enjoy it too much (well, she _would_), he stopped talking about it and how he was still going to be eating a plain old banana and chocolate cake when he got back to Crabapple Cove.

As the plane finally took off, I laughed, seeing him play hide-and-seek almost. Hawkeye hid his feelings, but then threw them out in the open through other ways, showing me that he was still normal, still crazy, still wishing that he wasn't in the war.

And it still felt like, to many people around us, as if we _weren't_ in the war and just went on some long vacation.

The final plane ride was full of suspense it seemed, with too much time on our minds and some peace in our hearts: rain still washing away everything. I could hardly _wait_ to see my daughter again and begin a new life. At the same time, I was also worried about a million other things. Questions flooded into my brain, thousands of thoughts that never really bothered me when we were in Korea because of how _unreal_ it seemed. I mean, I was worried that my daughter would not recognize me and would be unhappy despite Sidney telling me otherwise. But, even so, would my new father-in-law like me? What should I call him, especially if my own father decided to drop in? Would I like _him_? Would he mind me and Hawkeye being married and not having met me until I came to Crabapple Cove, after the war ended? Did he secretly resent taking in his granddaughter?

Daniel Pierce's letters said nothing about that _at all_. When he wrote to me, he would send me pictures and paragraphs of Shannon and tell me what she was doing and how he could not wait to see me (out of politeness or pure sincerity, I could not tell). Once, he wrote to me about her favorite activities. She loves the beach at noontime, he wrote, and would run into the water when the waves came in and laughed, coming back to him sunburned and choking on seawater. She talks and talks and talks and likes nothing more than to be held and loved. Her favorite time was close to bedtime, when the sun went down and the sky went black. Then, Daniel would let her run out into the backyard, to let out her energy one last time, where she would try to catch tiny fireflies before collapsing near the back porch, smiling as she slept.

I heard of things like that, things that I was missing in my daughter's life. _I_ was supposed to know all of these things. I was supposed to have seen her walk, holding onto her chuddy hands as she did. I was supposed to have been there to hear her say her first words, talking to her the same way. I was supposed to have read to her at night, or let her run free or tucked her into bed at night…or a million other things. It was the consequences of war, the direct result of my and Hawkeye's actions. I was no motherly person by any stretch of the imagination. However, just watching the war go by me, watching its people and handling its children directly, I saw what it did to me: changed me, made me a better person…made me a better _mother_ for when I was ready for it.

The war changed me. It changed Hawkeye. We went in as two separate people and came out as one entity. And one entity created another person, another person that would make another entity someday.

Sitting by my aisle seat thinking, I took Hawkeye's hand as it was announced that we were five minutes away from landing in Portland. "Are you ready for this?" I asked then him, knowing what his answer was going to be…almost.

Hawkeye turned to face me. "I should be asking you that question."

"You know that I am."

"Jeanie, you never considered the consequences of your actions." Hawkeye smiled. "Henry was right. Sometimes, you are without shame. Sometimes, you don't think."

"My mother said that before Henry, Hawkeye, and that was a long time ago. I've put her behind me. I'm only a little worried. It's just that…you know, it's supposed to be the greatest day of our lives. We're home. We're going home. And while home is where the heart is, and my heart is with you, I don't know – I mean, I don't think –"

"Dad will love you. Trust me. He will." Hawkeye turned back to his window, still holding onto my hand, tightening his grip a little.

Ok, so he knew about those things that plagued me, but some things he did not, so I needed to keep talking, to try to stop myself from going insane. "Hawkeye, it's also…you know, you miss everybody back there. I do, too. We'll see them again. You know that. I just wonder if you'll be ok with it and with being out of Korea."

He turned to me again, his face, for a moment, looking as if he had seen the mother kill her child back on the bus. Then, sighing deeply: "I don't know. Will you?"

Shrugging my shoulders, I replied, "Probably. Time will tell. I don't know."

"Maybe it'll be the same for me, too."

Then, there was quiet…the same kind of quiet there was when we flew over Korea, leaving the 4077th behind us. It was as if the finale of our actions were put down, put to one side and even forgotten, but always remembered in spirit. The curtain had finally been drawn down.

As I thought more and more about Korea (it had been almost a week since I had been there), the more my mind went through the memories and popped them right back at me. In my mind, though, instead of indexing and storing them away, images went through my eyes without me seeing, taking me back suddenly into another world without meaning, without warning. It was as if I was back in Korea once more, experiencing it again and again as the war raged on against us.

_Machine fire and explosions…weren't they all the same? "We have to save this one!" they all said, one man after another coming in. The windows' glass shattering, the power went out, oh, Jesus, the enemy was outside our doors again. Where were Dean and his unit? Where were the men that were supposed to guard us? Are they dead? Dear God, help us…_

I jolted, "waking up" from my mind, pushing it all away. Sidney and I knew that people in war (or any other traumatic experience, we theorized as we studied together) would sometimes relive the past, the past that was the most dangerous, the most frightening even. Korea was dangerous and, without a doubt, frightening, more so than West Germany. Many people I loved died in there. I was fine for the most part, worrying about surviving mostly, without going as crazy as Hawkeye did (debatable, I know). But to have sudden, deep memories of the O.R. was strange.

It was that one time when the enemy had run through the Front Lines, just after Charles had been transferred to the unit. Dean outside with his men without Colonel Coner in sight, before he died, before he was found and told me about the stars…

_A brave man once requested me…_

It was also startling. I could not have them now, no, I could not…I was going home.

~00~

Hawkeye and I walked into the airport, our luggage in our hands. We both were lost, confused even. It was all so bizarre, outlandish to even be in the civilian world when we looked and felt like we were still in the Army. We were in uniform still (I could not take mine off yet and neither could Hawkeye), looks from the local people sympathetic and even inquiring. But, we answered none of those stares and questions pointed at us. We were more intent on going home.

We could not find Hawkeye's Dad, either. He said that he would meet up with us at the airport and pick us up, Hawkeye talking to him on the phone in Bloomington when we had to switch flights for another day. His Dad made no mention about bringing Shannon, but that he'd pick us up.

Hawkeye pointed out a bench in some room next to where we got our things. "Why don't we sit and wait for Jeeves?" he asked jokingly.

I nodded, only blindly following him to a cold, metal bench (_"Scalpel, Jeanie," he said, as calm as could be_). We both then dropped our bags on the ground, utterly tired and watching people go by, oblivious to what we've been through and what we had seen.

"Do you think we missed him?" I asked as the minutes ticked slowly, getting more nervous as time passed.

"I think I missed myself," Hawkeye replied, smiling as he did.

"Where did you find yourself?" If he was playing a game, then I had to play along. I knew better.

"No, no, I _missed_ myself. Where did you find me, if ever?" Laughing nervously, Hawkeye looked around, scanning the crowds, searching for somebody and yet, finding nothing.

"Love…" I started to scoot over to lean on Hawkeye, but stopped when he saw something behind a group of people, more soldiers…boys, now men perhaps…

"_Look, all I know is what they taught me at command school. There are certain rules about a war. And rule number one is young men die. And rule number two is, doctors can't change rule number one."_

Putting his hand over his eyes, as if the Korean sun was bothering him (it was raining in Maine, by the way), Hawkeye looked around again and then smiled broadly when he stopped. He stood up like lightning and ran with wild excitement, waving his arms and yelling, "Dad! Dad, over here! We're over here!"

I stood up too, running after Hawkeye, our bags safe and left behind, just like our lives in Korea. "Jesus, Hawkeye, slow down!" I yelled after him, sprinting as fast as I could. I guessed that being tired had its disadvantages, after all. I used to be able to run pretty fast back in Korea…

Voices jumbled up, words exchanged…an older man in full view came to me as I cleared the coming crowds with my hands. As if an empty circle appeared, there stood two men, hugging, talking and kissing, yelling as if the world had come into full circle for them. Then, there was a little girl that came to about my knees. Long black hair, grey eyes, a small nose, tall for her age and a pretty smile…she was real. She was trying to cling onto the older man, trying to see the younger man next to her, but was impatient. She kept on tugging on the black pant leg, but at the same time, was eying the younger man – her own father – with suspicion, as if it was not real, as if this was just an illusion.

I walked over slowly, carefully, and then broke into a run when I myself had no more patience. Before I knew it, I had my child quickly in my arms, another set of arms around _me_, hugging, staring and even exclaiming.

"I know those eyes from anywhere," Daniel Pierce said as he finally faced me, bringing all three of us together in a tight embrace. Older with whiter hair (his dark hair was barely showing through the snow competing), blue eyes, a pale complexion and a large nose (like Hawkeye's), Daniel Pierce looked at me with such with sincerity that I knew came from the heart. I knew that he loved me from the moment he _heard_ about me.

"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy," Shannon kept repeating to me, not scared of me. She couldn't comprehend what had happened, but knew who I was, repeating the endearment again and again.

Sidney was right, after all. Shannon would know who I was and never forget me.

We all broke free of the embrace, laughing. I still held Shannon (so big in size from the tiny infant of yesteryear!) and snuggled against her, my head against hers, my lips on her face. She even wiped all of my kisses away, saying "Uckie!"

This made me laugh (Daniel smiled and Hawkeye chuckled nervously), giving me an idea. "Do you want to see Daddy?" I asked Shannon, not willing to give her up so easily to Hawkeye.

"Oh, boy, here it comes," Daniel laughed. "Benjamin Franklin 'Hawkeye' Pierce is finally settling down."

"Dad…" Hawkeye sighed and then grinned, as if to hide his nervousness, and came up to me, holding out his arms. They were shaking, we could all see, but he looked determined to hold his own child before he broke down again.

"It's ok, Hawkeye," I whispered. "You can hold her."

Hawkeye heard me. "Come here, Shannon," he only said out loud, still holding out his arms just for her.

"Hawkeye, are you sure?" Daniel asked him, seeing what was happening, putting two and two together. I think he knew about the incident on the bus, I was sure of it…

"I have her, Dad. It'll be ok."

Unwillingly (but knowing that I had to do it), I let Hawkeye take Shannon from my arms. He was hesitant at first, loosely holding her and almost dropping her, but then, after a minute, he pulled the child closer to his heart, tighter and with more love than I had ever seen in his eyes before.

"You have her?" Daniel asked Hawkeye.

"Yes, Dad, I do." Hawkeye shook his head slightly and only cuddled closer to Shannon, who would only repeat his name – Daddy, Daddy, Daddy – in his ear, playing with his black and white hair.


	37. Civilian Adjustments

As the days passed and everything seemed to have settled down (save for our nightmares every night) and a routine was established. Daniel used to get up in the morning, work part time at the local clinic (while the residents of Crabapple Cove asked for personal appointments, the other side of the house reserved for them alone) and watch Shannon at the same time. I didn't know how he did it, but he did, without exhausting himself. So, after Hawkeye and I came home, more time was freed up for him and the locals of Crabapple Cove.

The residents of the town, upon hearing that the local womanizer had married, gawked at me as if I was some circus freak as they came in and out of their appointments. It was as if I was a show to watch as I played, fed or disciplined Shannon. It annoyed me deeply, but after a while, the excitement slowed down and I was once free to walk outside without someone whispering.

In the first days Hawkeye and I started living together, I mostly took care of the baby (Shannon would always be that to me, although she was almost two years old). I was tired of being a nurse and always on the run and actually took to be the stay-at-home wife and mother pretty well. I didn't adjust as quickly as I thought I was going to, but I tried to stay as calm as possible for Shannon's sake. Nightmares came and went for me. I would always remember this and that, be reminded of Korea, and try not to break down and cry. I took solace in my child, husband and father-in-law and it took most of the pain away…but not all of it.

Hawkeye needed more time and space. He helped me around the house and with Shannon, of course, but there were times when he was frightened, when he could not look at Shannon without wanting to cry. He would always leave when he wanted to be alone, with me explaining to our daughter that that was all Daddy needed: peace and quiet. She accepted it, sometimes creeping upstairs to our room and slipping inside, cuddling with Hawkeye as he slept off his tears or, less often, a bottle. He, as well as I, drank less and less.

Calls from the people from the 4077th helped us a lot. B.J. was the first to call, then Colonel Potter (Sherman), Margaret, Sidney (checking in, as always), Kellye, Radar, Klinger and Soon-Lee (from a military post in Pusan), Father Mulcahy and his sister the Sister, Charles and sometimes Trapper. We all agreed to meet up in the spring and summer in the next year, suggestions as to where we would meet up in the air. However, when Radar suggested Crabapple Cove, Daniel was ecstatic. He prepared making room in the house (it was a huge three-story house, with an uncountable number of rooms), whistling happily and saying how much he couldn't wait until he met with our friends from Korea, the same people we wrote about as we fought in a war that we all had no business in.

We had more to celebrate, though. Before the M*A*S*H 4077th reunion (scheduled for May into June, 1954, with us and all of our families on board), our family was going to host our first civilian Christmas together, with B.J. and his family coming. He and Hawkeye were missing each other and talked of the holidays, Peg suggesting that they just fly out so we could all meet each other. Erin and Shannon were almost the same age (Erin was two months older), so the two would get along perfectly. And us adults…well, as always, we had much to talk about, to catch up. I actually could not wait to _meet_ Peg and Erin.

Then, after a few months of adjustment, Hawkeye started going back to work with Daniel at the clinic (the hospital being an hour drive away, several towns away) in November, 1953. It was another celebration for all of us, reassurances from Hawkeye that he was ready to move on. This, however, left me alone in the house half the time, taking messages, taking silly appointments (I had a list of who could and could not and under what circumstances), cleaning the house for the holidays and watching Shannon. Of course, I had another reason to celebrate, but did not want to tell anybody just yet. I was having my own period of adjustment and wanted to wait for the perfect moment to tell everybody, to put my own wartime demons behind me as the civilian ones took me, but Daniel almost blew my cover at Thanksgiving.

Most of the Pierce family came over, slept over and cooed over us. I met so many people from Hawkeye's family – my new in-laws – that my head spun. I mean, Hawkeye had several aunts and uncles and their children (his cousins) and _their_ grandchildren. His cousin Dolly was the only person who lived locally in Crabapple Cove, however, and it wasn't before long before she started talking to me. It took her a few months to come over, knowing to give us time to recuperate, but when she started stopping by while I was cleaning, I learned many things about the family, gossip and the like. I also learned more about Hawkeye through another person's eyes, family stories that sometimes made me laugh, cry or just bug my eyes out. I already knew about Carlye, so was interested to hear more of his girlfriends and other antics.

Thanksgiving dinner was a hit, though. After we ate, I went into the kitchen to bring out the bottles of wine that Hawkeye wanted served for dessert. Nobody was with me on this errand, so I took a moment to stretch out my legs and arms, happy that I helped to cook (and not burn anything, like I normally did when cooking) and smiling about my new in-laws. I then sighed, about to reach up into the top cabinet, to grab those bottles, when I heard a voice behind me.

"Do you want me to get those?" It was Daniel I saw as I swerved around. He moved passed me to grab the bottles. "I don't want you hurting yourself." He took two wine bottles from the top with ease, his height an obvious asset.

"Oh, I don't mind," I replied, feeling nervous all of a sudden as the dark bottles gleaned in the light, staring at me.

"As the mother of my _grandchildren_, I expect you to take it easy," Daniel said to me, putting the wine down on the counter next to the sink and crossing his arms. "When are you due this time?"

"How did you know?" I hissed, looking to see if anybody else was listening to our conversation. I had wanted to keep it a secret until Christmas, when B.J. and his family showed up, and make it a gift to Hawkeye: our first peacetime child.

"Nobody's here to listen to us, Jeanie, if you're that worried about it." Daniel paused. "To answer your question, all I can say is that you can hide things from my ass of a son well, but you can't hide a lot from me. He's still learning about being a family man and having a wife." He then smiled at me, as if to tell me that he was joking, and shook his head, so much like Hawkeye.

I didn't even ask how Daniel knew, but figured it was because he was a doctor, too, and had seen a lot of cases over the years.

"I'm supposed to be due in June. But, please, Daniel, keep it secret for a little while more. I want this as a Christmas present, for you, Hawkeye and Shannon. But, now you know, I guess, so Merry Early Christmas."

Daniel embraced me quickly and then took the wine from the counter. "Should we get going, then?" he asked, winking at me.

"Sure…" I followed behind him as we went back into the dining room full of jolly relatives, wiping the sweat from my forehead.

For the time being, the secret was being kept, but it didn't stop Daniel from checking on me from time to time during the next month. That particular pregnancy was harder than my last one and it had taken a lot of effort to hide it (I thought I did a good job, as did Daniel), but I had to make it through Christmas…and I barely did. The wait was worth it, although the fainting, vomiting and dizziness were barely welcome (and became harder to conceal from Hawkeye, who would ask me why I was always up before him). Christmas Day finally came upon us, with all of its trimmings, joy and festivities and was beautiful: out first _real_ truce.

B.J., Peg and Erin arrived on Christmas Eve Day, much to Hawkeye's pleasure. We all caught up on everything and even laughed (with no Pierce relatives in sight, since they were told to keep away from this holiday until January, when we would have our own dinner). Peg was _wonderful_ and we hit it off well, talking well into the night, Hawkeye and B.J. upstairs in the "bachelor" room (someplace akin to the Swamp). The two old Swampmen were having pillow fights and wrestling matches upstairs, playfully bumping down the stairs as we drank our coffee in the living room, laughing at our husbands being childish.

The next day was the day to end it all, the day I had to tell Hawkeye about the next child (Daniel did warn me that if I didn't tell Hawkeye, he would). I had to wait until everybody had breakfast and then opened their presents, the children first (Shannon and Erin became playmates fast, just like Hawkeye and B.J. took to each other, and shared well) and the adults last. Finally, when we all had thanked the others for the gifts and the wonderful holiday so far, I stood up, bringing out the last package from deep under the tree.

"What's in there, Jeanie?" B.J. asked, seeing the tiny box in my hands.

"I think we've missed something," Daniel added, knowing what was the present was.

"Uh-oh, trouble!" Shannon giggled.

"Jeanie, you've given me everything and more. What else do you have to give?" Hawkeye sat on the couch, sighing, but smiling.

"More to love," Peg laughed. _She_ knew because I told her the night before and swore her to secrecy, telling her not to even _tell_ B.J. about child number two. I would have _killed_ her if she said more!

"Shush," I finally said without strangling anybody, sitting down next to Hawkeye and handing him the box, kissing him. "Merry Christmas, Love."

Hawkeye shook his head and undid the bow, ribbons and wrapping paper, lifting the box's lid and gasping when he pulled out the item I had made for him: a tiny green, blue and white baby cap I had knitted while he was working at the clinic. He showed it to everybody, listening to the laughing, congratulations and clapping that came from it. Then, nervously, Hawkeye took me into his arms and kissed me merrily, gathering Shannon into his lap, telling her that she was going to have a baby brother or sister soon.

"Merry Christmas," Hawkeye finally replied as Shannon got off his lap, grinning, _healed_. "When are we expecting?"

"June," I answered, laughing, thinking of how wonderful things were already, how terrific we were mending from this awful thing called _war_.


	38. Another Blow

The days passed, as usual, and everything started falling into place perfectly for a while. After the Christmas season (no wounded, orphans and outdoor living still in sight, _oh, no, we were not in Korea anymore_), we had two weeks of peace and quiet, only interrupted by the Pierce family visiting. My second trimester even began peacefully enough (a false sense of security, but it was convivial), only interrupted by getting a cold at the end of January (feeling dizzy, disoriented and nauseous at the same time). I caught it from Shannon (who managed to get soaking wet in the light snow we got, despite my efforts to get her in the bathtub quickly), eventually passing it onto me and Hawkeye. Daniel seemed to be the only person immune to it.

"It's because you've all been in Korea for that long," he mentioned, passing me and Hawkeye cups of tea as we snuggled under a large blanket on the couch in the living room late one night, feeling the heat from the fireplace reach us safely.

"No, it was pretty cold in Korea," I replied, sneezing.

"But it never really snowed," Hawkeye pointed out weakly.

"Shush," I nudged him, spilling some hot tea on his arm…accidentally enough.

About a week later, in early February, we all were on our feet again, although still sniffling and coughing lightly and going back to work. Even Shannon was running around the house again, her nose running, begging me to play hide-and-seek with her (a game she and Erin played on Christmas), although I could hardly hide, playing anyway. Then, she would babble and giggle, asking me when her baby brother or sister was going to be born. She wasn't quite patient yet (I guessed that not all toddlers were), but humorously thought that her new sibling would be able to play with her.

"Not for a little while, Sweetie," I said, feeling the baby move (summersaults, really) as I started to tackle the dishes in the kitchen after exhaustingly playing with her. "He or she won't be here until summer, when it gets hot again and there's no more snow on the ground."

"Oh," Shannon answered, suddenly jumping and then clinging onto my leg when the doorbell rang. Something was bothering her, so badly that she wouldn't get off of my leg.

I sighed, frustrated. _Who could it be this time?_ It was eight-thirty in the morning. Most people who wanted to schedule appointments with Daniel and/or Hawkeye came on or after ten, at my request, a note at the door explaining all. I had a routine in the morning (get up at seven to make breakfast for everybody and start doing things at eight when Hawkeye and Daniel left for work) and I didn't like it interrupted. It was the whole housewife thing coming out in me. I felt like I didn't need to be watched all the time. I have a job to do. I didn't want people disturbing it.

I thought about ignoring the person bothering me, but the doorbell rang again, urgently. The irritating buzz was long and drawn-out, telling me that this was some sort of emergency. I had to answer the door this time and I couldn't pretend that I wasn't home.

_And it had _better_ be an emergency, or less I'm going to explode. I don't even _care_ who it is anymore. Mrs. What's-It and her children can wait another hour and a half for service, even if one of them is throwing up on the porch. Mr. Who's-It can drive to the hospital if he's in _that _much pain. I may be a nurse, but I'm not too sympathetic when it comes to people not listening to me._

"I'm coming!" I called loudly, shaking Shannon off of my leg. My daughter jumped off as I toweled off my wet hands, kindly taking my apron and putting over her little kitchen chair as I threw it in frustration on the floor.

The doorbell rang again: annoyed to be out in the cold and knowing that somebody was home, behind the other side of the door. I knew it well. And I had to hurry up before I got the last kind of doorbell ring: rude and without common courtesy, screaming about being left outside in the cold too long.

"I'm coming! I'm coming! I'm coming!" I yelled repeatedly again, running the living room obstacle course full of papers, toys, briefcases and even books to get to the door. Shannon was right behind me again, trying to keep up and catch my leg as I ran to the door, straightening out my hair and bracing myself for the cold to come inside for a moment.

I opened the door, my daughter latched onto my leg again, shocked to see who was behind it.

"Jeanette, please let me in." Daddy practically shoved me and Shannon aside with his hands, his coat blowing fluffy snow outside, thankfully.

I closed the door quickly – cold air making icicles stick onto my hair by their sheer touch – and watched as my father took his coat off, laying it on the couch nearest the fireplace.

"Sir –" I began as I stared at him, wondering what he was doing, coming to visit me in Crabapple Cove.

"Jeanette, I'm here on family business, not a personal social visit," Daddy interrupted, looking down at Shannon on my leg, barely seeing her. "This must be my granddaughter."

"Yes, this is Shannon Cora Pierce," I replied stiffly, becoming nervous again, figuring that, before he said anything, Daddy did not come here for a social call.

Shannon herself was whimpering with fright, knowing her other grandfather within seconds without an introduction. Not clinging to my leg anymore, she decided to hide behind them, grabbing onto the bottom of my sweater for support.

"With another on the way," Daddy added with some amazement, his grey eyes becoming harder afterward. "My, you get along quickly with your new life, Daughter. But, now is not the time to ponder upon these things. I came here to tell you some news."

"Unexpectedly, I might add." I was _livid_. I expected my father to come, but not at _this_ time.

"Jeanette, brace yourself, because this is bad news. I was just in Bloomington and have heard that your mother died only three days ago. I came here as fast as I could to tell you. You were assigned to be in charge of the estate and –"

"No, she can't be!"

Denial, they say, is one of the first stages of grief. She's had too many attempts, too many times where she tried to die and failed miserably. She would be laughing nervously about it, noose marks, water or pillow feathers on her, saying that God spared her for another day, and live again.

_No, my mother could not be dead yet!_ _No, she's not dead yet. She can't be!_ _No…_

Daddy came up to me, putting his large hands on my shoulders, as if to steady me from this latest blow, to give me strength when I could not find any, not even within his being. "Jeanette, your mother has been sick for the longest time. She hid behind religion and another man for sanity, but her own depression took over. Her mind has never been the same since Clarence and Dean died. She started running away for periods of time. She went to church and hid there for days, months even, without nourishment. She tried killing herself numerous times when you were in Korea."

"No, she can't be…" I felt myself start to sway, my eye blurring. Shannon let go of my sweater and ran out from behind me. Where she went to, I could not see.

"She hasn't known reason for the longest time," Daddy continued as he held me up, seeing me sway. "She loved and hated and blamed. _She_ was not to blame for everything. She could have been a good woman if medical science had known what was wrong with her, if they could have figured it out. Do you want to know what she died of, Jeanette?"

"Did she kill herself?" I whispered, a hush, as if to keep my daughter away from the truth, to keep stalling in telling her about life and death and its cycles.

"The priest doesn't know. He thought that, with Rebeccah on her knees for hours praying and refusing nourishment, she died of malnutrition and lack of human care. She said nothing, but of her woes and miseries in her prayers." Daddy paused, looking at the shocked look on my face. "She died three days ago, Jeanette. Stand up and be a woman. Be strong for your family. You're in charge of her estate, as well as Dean's and Clarence's, since she did not take care of that."

"Oh, God…" I numbed, paled and fainted, only aware that I did not hit the floor.

~00~

There was an argument, of course. The main argument was that I could not go to Bloomington in my condition. However, I was the only person who could legally deal with the lawyers and disperse of my mother's estate, as well as Dean's. Clarence's family had nothing to do with him in the past, because of his behavior, but took care of his things for me, as if to ease the way for me, to make life easier in the process. Mom was supposed to do all of those things, but sadly finding out that she didn't lift a finger (especially in her mental state) left everything to me, Daddy (who I asked for help, since he's done it before) and the Lowes family.

Hawkeye and Daniel argued against it as Daddy told them the news, the two rushing back to the house when Shannon (smart as a whip, I told people, and they never believed me) took the phone and called the clinic, asking for her Daddy and Grandpa. First off, they both said, I could not travel to Illinois with just my father in tow, especially pregnant (and a hard pregnancy, at that). Second off, Shannon was a little too young to be attending a funeral. Who was going to watch her and keep the house intact? Daniel may have done it for a while, but Hawkeye was not keen on letting his own father doing it again.

"Ben, I could do it," Daniel protested, always using Hawkeye's first name when he was serious and wanted his undivided attention. And in this case, Daniel needed Hawkeye to be calm and to see things with a rational mind. But, as always, Hawkeye's anger towards a lot of things went sideways, so everything out of his mouth was backwards.

"But, I don't want Jeanie even _going_," Hawkeye sharply replied, ignoring that Daniel used his first name.

"Hey, I'm over here!" I said, lying on the couch comfortably, my feet elevated on a pillow. "You don't have to talk over my head like that."

"Well, we have to think of something quickly," Daddy added in. "Rebeccah's estate is supposed to be handled by the person mentioned in her will – Jeanette – since her brother and husband are dead. She has to go with me."

"And, speaking not only as her husband, but as her doctor as well, I don't think she can handle it physically. Her brothers can do the honors without her." Hawkeye crossed his arms, stubborn that I would not go back to Bloomington.

Daddy sighed. "Pierce, if you let Jeanette go, will you at least be satisfied to come along, to make sure she doesn't hurt herself or make sure that something doesn't happen to go wrong?"

Daniel stiffened, his civil demeanor gone, showing his obvious discomfort in front of my father for the first time. "Ben…Hawkeye…he might be right in this one," he said slowly to Hawkeye.

"I'll go then!" Hawkeye threw his arms up in the air and paced the room, ranting again. "Sure, I'll go, General Heartless, and make sure you don't happen to create an 'accident' for your own daughter. Sure, I'll go. I'll make sure that she doesn't lose yet another child to stress, fatigue and the sorry ass situations you all put her in!"

I only shook my head and sighed, hearing Shannon cry upstairs, as Hawkeye seemed to have interrupted her nap. As Daniel heard this and went upstairs to investigate the noise, I thought: I won this round. _I won this round._

_But, to what extent?_ The next thought came unbidden, as if to tell me to venture further into the situation. Hell, I may have won this time, to go back to Bloomington to finish up business, but how could I have won when this trip back to my hometown – already causing me so much grief to begin with – will make everything worse?

_Nothing could be worse than war, though. You know that._ The thoughts made me shiver.


	39. Fates of the 4077th Team

Hawkeye, Daddy and I traveled to Bloomington and handled the estate and funeral arrangements with as few tears as possible. Of course, my own father was barely registering grief (Mom was the ex-wife, after all), but I was very upset. I cried all the way to Bloomington, calling Lorraine at a stopover in D.C., telling her everything that happened and asking if she could she help, too. She was taken back and was astounded by my request, I could tell, and stuttered that she would help. She also mentioned that she expected it to happen and how sorry she was that it was Mom that died.

In the meantime, I managed to get through the funeral arrangements fine (the church ceremonies, the wake, the funeral, the burial, etc.), but I was drained afterward. Hawkeye watched me closely, Daddy was indifferent to everything (except surprised when, in the reading of Mom's will, he was briefly mentioned, receiving her wedding ring from her marriage with him and some money, for "the trouble of being your wife") and I was still grieving. I kept my composure for the most part, but broke down at the cemetery, where Mom was to be buried, next to Clarence and Dean. I had not seen these graves (only Henry's on the other side of the cemetery) and did not expect, as I threw in my thornless rose on top of Mom's coffin – a thin, wasted body underneath it – that I would be sobbing.

Afterward, I managed, with Lorraine and Hawkeye's help, to distribute the property evenly, including Mom's will into everything. The remaining boxes full of things belonging to me were shipped to Crabapple Cove as soon as the post office was open. Family members claimed the rest, which was fine by me. Hell, even my older brothers came by from the Netherlands, hearing of the news, and decided to help me after all, taking old things of theirs and the odds and ends, remembering old times and saying goodbye, perhaps for the final time.

I was _exhausted_ at the end of it. I was finished with business by the middle of February, so spoke another farewell to my father, leaving for Maine with Hawkeye as soon as I could. However, when I came back, the first thing I did was go to bed. I could barely walk, could not breathe (the old wounds from Korea came back to haunt me) and could not be coherent for a few minutes. I didn't even greet Shannon. I just went to bed, staying there for _months_, until May, when I started to feel myself again, started to feel happier, knowing that the 4077th reunion was coming up.

And, boy, it was a blast! Anybody who was _anybody_ came, marveling at the changes we underwent and explaining theirs as well. All present and accounted for: Colonel and Mrs. Potter (Sherman and Mildred to us), Margaret and Keith (her new "boyfriend"), Soon-Lee and Klinger (who found her family and was living in Missouri with the Potters), Father Mulcahy (also with the Potters), Radar (getting married!), B.J., Peg (also pregnant) and Erin, Charles and his family (a surprise actually). Trapper, Louise, Becky and Kathy, Lorraine and the children, Kellye and her family, Sidney and _his_ family and many, many more also came. However, I noticed that old "Ferret Face" and family were not there, so it was a relief, especially to Margaret, who heard of him still assaulting blondes and saying that they are her.

The month-long celebration also collided with our next child's birth. Only two days after Hawkeye and I celebrated our first wedding anniversary (officially knowing what it was all about) and about five days before the party was to end, I was cleaning the house, making ready for the night's festivities. Daniel, Hawkeye, B.J., Charles and Sherman were on the other side of the house, where the examination rooms were, joking, examining and laughing over the latest issues of medical journals. The women (as well as Klinger, Father Mulcahy and the other men) were out on the beach, having a good time of their own. The only other person with me was Shannon, who could not go to the beach because of a nasty sunburn from the day before.

After I vacuumed the living room (difficult as it was) and rested on the couch afterward, I spotted my daughter coloring on some white paper on the other side of the room, smiling as she made a family of yellow, blue and brown crayon. I marveled at her growth in a year (as well as ours) and my thoughts soon turned to the next child. What would this one be like? Will I learn to be a good mother, as I did with Shannon? Will I know how to take care of an infant? Oh, I didn't know.

Suddenly, I felt a small, albeit painful, back spasm. I stood up quickly, catching my daughter's attention, but smiled, as if to reassure her that I was fine.

"Shannon, can you get Daddy or somebody over there, please?" I asked my daughter. I knew what it was, knowing that there was no time to drive me to a hospital, knowing that I will barely had any strength left to walk soon, to get someplace where I could _rest_. "I'll be upstairs in my room."

"Ok, Mommy," Shannon replied, getting up from her coloring and heading down the "forbidden doorway" with my permission. She disappeared behind the door, a _click_ behind her giving me time to be alone with this child.

Another small spasm overtook me, prompting me to get moving up those stairs, to the bedroom. Granted, it was a harder walk, but it was also short. My daughter knew what to do. Hawkeye or somebody would come over…

Tired, I made it up the stairs slowly (nobody behind me yet) and made it to the bedroom, to the bed, resting, gasping and sighing. I closed my eyes, waiting, watching, knowing that there would be another change in us, another addition to the living, breathing planet we have. And it amazed me still, much as it still did almost three years before, when there were bombs exploding around us and a country at war, we as their partiers, out to clean up the mess they had made…

Five hours later, our daughter, Annabeth Margaret Pierce, was born. And I will still swear to this day, no matter what age I am, that her grandmother – Hawkeye's mother – was in the bedroom with me, watching over me as her next granddaughter was born, crying loudly in her father's bloodied, gloved hands.

~00~

The cycle continued to rotate, as always, and our family and love grew up. Many things changed in the last years of the decade and into the early years of the 1960's, things that changed mostly for the greater good. Sometimes, we fell and stumbled, but when we got back up again, we could easily brush ourselves off, call it a day and begin anew, as we've always done. And, strangely enough, what gave us all hope within the family, within this circle of love, was the mountain laurel bush in the yard, which was finally blooming in the spring after we came back from Korea. The flowers finally grew and opened up after years of remaining barren, telling is that even death was not the end of everything, but also the beginning of something new, a renewal of everything.

Hawkeye and I remained married, of course, but we never talked about Korea in front of others (except alone and with the people from the 4077th) if we could help it. We both still had nightmares, even to the present day, about what we did, what happened and even the people involved in it. Each soldier had a name, each Korean civilian had a life to live, and it killed us to think that the war still was on, despite the armistice. We knew that troops still walked up and down the dusty roads, shooting at each other. We knew that there were still lines to cross, battles between the two Koreas still raging. So, we both hid it behind the mask called "family", but could barely hide it from each other and the people who worked with us.

Our children and Daniel, however, were another story altogether.

Daniel was semi-retired from medicine by December of 1955 (well, retired from the clinic, anyhow) and indulged himself by spending time with us, his grandchildren and the rest of the Pierce family (calling us his "pride and joy"). He resided in the house with us and sometimes entertained the town's residents in his waiting room, taking few patients. However, he refused to take on more, insisting that his only patients were his family, who had been patient for years, to spend some time with him…and finally were when he retired completely in 1960 at the age of sixty-eight.

Shannon and Annabeth were joined by two more siblings (accidentally, Hawkeye and I swear) on April 4, 1956: twins, Danielle Lily and Patrick Walter Pierce. In my heart, I somehow knew that I was going to have twins (the old family curse, of course), but I did not expect them to come at such a late age in my childbirth years (I was nearly thirty-four). This time, though, the labor was easier to handle (easy because I had a Caesarian Section and unconscious) and, like a miracle, this "curse" seemed to have been broken. Like what Mom's uncle told her many years before in the vision at the lake, it came true by the birth of twins, the girl being first. Danielle, according to Hawkeye and the birth records, _was_ born first. Patrick was born barely two minutes later.

B.J. and Peg, also still married, welcomed another little girl into their family, Regina "Gina" Hunnicutt in the Christmas season of 1954. In 1956, they also had their last child, a son named Dean (B.J. had asked me first, knowing that it might hurt me, and was pleased to hear me oblige him and Peg). Erin, being the oldest, was a tempest of a child, but loved her siblings, just as Shannon did. She also remained friends with my eldest daughter, the two always giggling and laughing when they met. Gina took to Annabeth and Dean took to the twins. So, the four of us joked, saying that all were born in the same years and were almost alike in character, just like we were.

Trapper remained in Boston and worked as a doctor at Boston Mercy, the same as Charles (the two met occasionally and talked civilly). He and Louise finally divorced in 1956 after Louise found out the true extent of his infidelities in Korea. Both had joint custody of the girls (Trapper was a devoted parent and I saw it at the reunions), although it would be a handful of years before the two would be legal adults and be on their own. Up until 1962, when Kathy (the younger daughter) turned eighteen, Trapper and Louise butted heads with each other about their upbringing. Afterward, they went their separate ways, although Trapper was hurt for quite a while about leaving Louise permanently. However, he had no wish to remarry and remained a happier man as he worked and watched his girls – the girls he so missed when he was a doctor in Korea – grow up.

Frank Burns continued to live with _his_ Louise for another couple of years at their home in Fort Wayne, Indiana. In 1955, he divorced his wife finally and left her and their three daughters _and_ his job at the V.A. Hospital behind, traveling around the country (quite literally) looking for Margaret. He was pretty loony for a while and could not understand that his relationship with her was still over. He still harassed and attacked many blonde-haired women (making me happy that I was a brunette), thinking they were Margaret. Finally, in 1957, he was arrested by the M.P.'s and put in a mental institution, where he died the next year. The cause of death: still unknown, since it is classified military information.

Charles Emerson Winchester III – the man who used music as a refuge and then remained reminded of war when it was played – turned into a humbler man because of Korea. He returned to Boston a changed man, working at Boston Mercy Hospital. He learned from the less fortunate people of Korea and dedicated his life to helping them quietly. He sponsored charities, especially those concerning the Korean people, and continued to work in the local community, earning himself a respected reputation and one that was actually worthy of respect.

As far as we all knew, Charles is currently not married (Hawkeye hinted at him being a closet homosexual, but I did never know with the former Major Ego), but enjoyed his sister Honoria's five children (she was married in 1954 and Hawkeye and I were surprised when we were invited to the wedding). He still comes to the 4077th reunions and actually has gotten along a lot better with Sherman Potter, sharing a laugh or two with him and Mildred before their untimely deaths.

Walter "Radar" O'Reilly returned to his hometown of Ottumwa, Iowa in November of 1952 and tried to help his mother work the farm. With _our _help, the two had the help of a Korean who knew who to farm. Before long, though, a tornado hit Ottumwa, killing the Korean man, amongst others. Everything in the town was destroyed, including Radar's home and his life. But, despite everything, the young naïve farm boy still had his mother and his intended, a girl named Sandy.

After selling the land where the farm used to be and sending his mother to live with an elderly aunt, Radar (now going by his first name of "Walter", although we still called him Radar) moved to St. Louis, Missouri, where he met up with Klinger, Father Mulcahy and Sherman Potter. He had cold feet for a while (because he thought he was being cuckolded), but eventually married Sandy. However, during the honeymoon – before he started his job as a police officer – Sandy disappeared, leaving Radar alone. So, the two obtained a legal separation, leaving Radar to his new job and his service the general public, who loved him for his childlike gentleness and his adult resourcefulness.

Lorraine Blake continued to raise her children alone, the strongest of us all. Every year after the war, on October 17 (the anniversary of Henry's death), she hosted a remembrance party out in Bloomington for all of those who knew and loved Henry Blake. We talked, drank deeply and toasted Henry, to remember him always. However, it was at these parties that I realized how much the children especially took us to heart. Molly and Janie, growing up too fast for me, would drink along with us, vowing to dedicating their lives to the wellbeing of soldiers coming home, wanting to become doctors. Andrew, the splitting image of Henry, also wanted to become a doctor, but, like Lorraine, took life slowly, as it was given to him. He learned of his father through us and, because of it, became a gentle, loving child.

The former C.O., Sherman Potter, returned to Hannibal, Missouri and soon became bored with retirement and housework. Working at General John J. Pershing General V.A. Hospital ("General General") in River Bend, Missouri (about forty miles from where he lived), Sherman soon enlisted the help of Klinger, who came to his former C.O.'s side after running into some hard times, and Father Mulcahy, also on some tough times. In-between working far from home, Colonel Potter also enjoyed his children and grandchildren. He also came to the reunions with Mildred up until 1960, when his wife died. We all went to the funeral, grieving for Mrs. Potter, but it was Margaret who took care of him when she could. She was the one who took him to the reunions until 1963, when he took a turn for the worst and died of heart disease.

Soon-Lee and Klinger did find her family in Korea and moved to Toledo. However, Klinger's family did not like the interracial marriage, so booted him from their home, leaving the former clerk to diabolical and illegal deeds in order to survive. In trouble with the law and also expecting his first child, Klinger took the offer from Sherman Potter to work at "General General" as an administrative assistant. He was bailed out a few times from prison and soon was housing with the Potters with Soon-Lee and their little son, also named Max (I do agree with everybody when I say that their son is the ugliest, but love is love and I can't complain). In 1963, Soon-Lee and Klinger moved back to Toledo, finally absolved of their deeds, and are still there with little Max. No other siblings are on the way, so their Lebanese/Korean Max seems to be remaining their only one.

Father Mulcahy, after leaving the 8063rd, was forced to leave of Korea because he was worsening deafness. Depressed, he took to drinking heavily (regaining his old nickname of "Dago Red"), leaving the Korean orphans behind because he was forced to. However, when Sherman Potter heard everything, he had the Padre moved to St. Louis, where he underwent an experimental operation to regain his hearing. It luckily worked and it won the Padre a position as the Catholic chaplain of "General General" after he stopped drinking. He worked there for a while, but in 1963 (and many reunions later), Father Mulcahy was finally allowed back to Korea, to work with the orphans – and deaf priests – at last.

Sidney Freedman, who was not a member of the 4077th (a dear friend to us all, though), kept tabs on me and Hawkeye often. He, his wife and his son moved to Chicago, where he worked at the University of Chicago, teaching former soldiers and others about psychology and the frailty of the human mind. Remembering Korea well, Dr. Freedman used examples of his studies, even those he and I had put together in 1952, and presented his theories about "Shell Shock" or "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder". A leading psychologist on the theories, Sidney wrote papers about the subject, spreading awareness about the disorder. Today, he is still teaching it, reminding others that the human mind, too, needs rest, not just physical rest.

My own father, General "Heartless" Morrison, was transferred to military duty in Washington, D.C. upon peace in Korea. Used as a military advisor, Daddy was then assigned to work in the jungles of a country called Vietnam, west of Korea. In late 1955, after coming back to report and seeing Shannon and Annabeth and hearing that he was going to have more grandchildren, Daddy flew back to Vietnam, where he continued to work. Knowing that we were going to put troops in there, he advised against another war, knowing that the Communists of North Vietnam (split, just like Korea) would not take kindly to us involving ourselves in another conflict. Afterward, I heard nothing from him, save for a few letters, explaining where he was and what he was doing. In 1962, recalled to Washington, D.C. because ill health, my father met up President Kennedy, explaining everything. He also announced his retirement when he was close to eighty years old. However, before the official papers could be signed, he died of a stroke before he even got the chance to see me, the last time being when he said farewell for the final time in late 1955.

I heard little from Kellye and the other nurses (_very_ busy, they all said, only coming to the reunions with their families), but we heard the most from Margaret, happy at last. After the war, she moved to a more permanent location so that she could work as a nurse in a "big city hospital": Seattle, Washington. There, she met Keith O'Brien, a veteran doctor of the war, and the two became close friends and then lovers. It took her a few years to accept the engagement ring, but she did in 1957, marrying the next year with all of us cheering her on. The couple had three children (Henry, Evelyn and Julia) and bought a house in Richland, Washington, where the two worked as a husband/wife medical team for the community. In 1960, Margaret started taking care of Sherman Potter (long distance style) and would keep tabs on him the most, making sure that he made it to the reunions and to other places out of state, if he could. In 1963, she was the only one of us to fly out to Missouri, holding his hand as he died.

As the year 1964 dawned upon her – changes in the air, our children getting older – we all look back upon eleven years of reunions, eleven years without going back to war. Peace was worth it, it was worth waiting for. Some of us made it and some of us didn't or stopped trying to go all the way. But, by then, we all sensed that something _else_ was in the air: another war. We heard about it even before peace was supposedly declared in Korea. It was called Vietnam. The wind started blowing in a westward direction in 1954 and continued for ten years. By 1964, though, the news had reached us hard, teaching us that even the lessons of Korea had not been learned.


	40. Korea's Legacy: 1964

I was down in the cellar, doing laundry as the news blared from the T.V. upstairs in the living room. Hawkeye and I had been watching the news with fervor for over a year now (when Peg, B.J. and the kids came over, they watched with us), listening to President Johnson, even after the assassination of the previous president, stay determined to fight the Communists, just every other president before him – since Harry S. Truman – wanted to do. The year before, we had been quite hopeful, since he ordered over a thousand troops taken out of Vietnam (military advisors included), but then, more troops were ordered into the country, making us worry that another war against Communism was on its way once more.

Just as I put the wet clothes into the dryer after bouncing the clean into the spare basket, I heard B.J.'s voice as he opened the door upstairs from the kitchen. "Jeanie, come upstairs quickly!"

"What is it?" I yelled back, a sense of urgency found in my own voice as I started the machine up.

"We've supposedly been attacked at the Gulf of Tonkin!" Hawkeye yelled from behind B.J. (I could tell).

"What do you mean 'supposedly'? Were we attacked or weren't we?"

I was curious. I took the basket of clean clothes and ran upstairs with it jumping up and down on my hips. When I got up there and put the basket down on the floor, I saw B.J. and Hawkeye's faces. They both told me something had befallen this country again, that once more, we were at another place of tragedy and pain: _war_.

"Intelligence mission gone wrong, they said," B.J. offered, my own face feeling the blast of explosions, the gunshots that killed…the slippery, warm feeling of blood of yet another child fighting for another cause…

"The _U.S.S. Maddox_ was shot at by the North Vietnamese?" I was confused, remembering that from the news from a few days back. "But how? _Why? _This can't happen. We just _had _peace. We went from one Asian country to the next, within a year even. Dammit, couldn't we leave them _alone_?"

Hawkeye took me by the shoulders and then embraced me, trying to get the images out of our heads. I knew that he, too, was having trouble understanding it all. It took us _years_ to get the images of Korea out of our heads, but, like a sneaky child trying to get a cookie at midnight, they crept back into our dreams and into our living lives: helpless, we stayed within their sphere. They stalk us, and probably will, for the rest of our lives. We could not get rid of them.

Our children are not aware of them yet, not stepping foot outside of their hometown unless traveling with us. All seven of them were unaware of war, destruction and death unless hearing it overheard. They will be, though. Shannon was thirteen and close to the drafting age if she doesn't do something. I knew that women are not on the Front Lines, but if she becomes a nurse or doctor, she might be, just like we were. She might as well be fighting as a man. Annabeth was eleven and the twins were seven, so I was not worried about them just yet, but Shannon…she had an inquiring mind, still smart and sharp as a whip. She could be used as a tool against the other side, used in a war of metal or wits, just as I was.

B.J. broke us apart quickly. "Come on, let's watch more."

"I can't do it," I said as Hawkeye went to follow B.J. back into the living room, choking back another sob, not believing that _another_ war was amongst us again.

"Do what, Mom? What can't you do?"

Shannon had come into the kitchen, Erin behind her as the two former Swampmen turned to face me. The two girls had been braiding each other's hair, so their long hair (Erin's blonde and Shannon's black) was adorned with thread, beads and glitter. Apparently, they, too, had been listening to the news and trying to put two and two together.

"Do what?" Erin repeated when we three adults could not answer.

I managed a weak smile. "Nothing," I lied instantly, hiding them both from the truth about everything we've grown so distant from, the pictures of a youth gone wrong.

"You're upset, Mom," Shannon insisted, her black hair shining blue. "What's wrong?"

"You handle this one," Hawkeye managed to say to me in his own grief, staying silent on the matter to his own daughter until I talked to her. To B.J., he added, "You want me with you?"

B.J. also knew what to do, knew what Hawkeye was talking about. "Yeah…sure, come on. We'll talk it out with Erin."

B.J. then took Erin by the hand gently and led her upstairs with Hawkeye, closing the guest bedroom behind them with a finality that even made me shudder, as if this was the end of the girls' innocence: the end of their carefree days as children and the beginning of their journey as adults. It was something that had to be done, but it was also something much dreaded, as if we parents wanted to keep them children forever.

However, I could not. I could not do it to my beautiful children, even if I wanted to, because it was not fair. I could not let them out of their own, after spending years in a small town, and expect them to stand up if I had not told them anything. I had to prepare them.

I motioned that Shannon sit next to me at the small kitchen island so that we could talk. And as we did, facing each other, I sighed, wishing to know where to start, but not knowing where to. Finally, after moments of silence, I blurted, "I'm so sorry, Shannon."

"What for, Mom?" she asked, tilting her head to one side. Her own hard grey eyes scanned mine, as if trying to figure out why I was apologetic, but could not. She was as confused as ever before.

"I could not tell you anything about Korea because I thought you were much too young, but even children must grow up." I sighed again. "Shannon, you know that you were born in Korea, when we were still at war with the North Koreans, Chinese and the Soviets. You got bounced around and cooed over and you did not see me until you were almost two years old. Well, you're almost thirteen now. You should know everything. And well…you don't know is how much the war changed me, changed your father. We hated the war. A lot of people we knew died in that war, including your father's friend, Tommy, and your uncle, my twin brother."

"You said that I was undoubtedly Dad's child," Shannon protested as she thought of something totally different, more confused than ever before. "You said you were not married and some stupid man was there and –"

"Rape is a horrible thing, yes," I interrupted, trying to get off the subject of that _person_, still at Leavenworth luckily. "It's not something you're going to hear from anybody else, but you can hear it from me. Yes, you're Hawkeye Pierce's daughter, no doubt about it. We know this. No, no, I'm not saying you're not. What I am saying is…well, really, war is hell. War is hell. Your father and I and B.J. and everybody else that you see at the 4077th reunions went through hell. We went through many different things, many different changes…"

And on I went, ignoring about another war coming on the T.V., ignoring my own tears, ignoring the memories that came to me again, the pain and agony of a suicide that came back to life: yes, it was painless in a way, brought us so much, but I took it. Dean's words even came back to me in simple black and white, burning a deeper hole in my heart, one of a twin.

"_I know that I'm not quite ready, but I've made myself as ready as I can ever be. I can't believe it, little sister. Is it to be or not be? Is this really_real_?"_

I held nothing back. I told Shannon everything, even the about poem, reciting it from memory as its written form remained hidden in a dresser. I told her how it started coming to me, how suicide meant something different to me than others. Hell, I even mentioned how the last lines came to me when her uncle died, died at the 4077th, after his C.O. tried leaving him for dead, but was brought back to the unit when he was found by a soldier, patrolling the area and trying to find the enemy, not expecting to find a missing officer.

"It's always going to be there, isn't it?" Shannon asked when I finished, without my crying, without my shame, without my torment: a soul released. I had told it all, said it all, and now, that piece of Korea was still with me, still part of my memories. However, it had been passed on, passed on to the next generation. And somehow, I was glad for it.

"Yes, it would be," I confirmed, sniffling, wiping a stray tear off of my face, taking her hands into mine. "Erin will understand, too. You both were not meant for war. All of you are not. Nobody is. Yet, there we are, watching it happen again. And I can't sit back and watch it happen. None of us here could do it. Your father and I hoped it would not happen, but it did…again. And more kids are going to find out how hard it'll be. They'll find out that a piece of their innocence will be taken away, a piece of their heart taken away because they had to stop caring, had to start looking hard into another human's eyes and shoot. It is the first thing that you lose and it's sometimes the worst thing."

Shannon was quiet for a while, listening to Peg and her siblings and B.J.'s younger children play in the living room, and sighed too. "Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" she asked in a whisper.

"I was not ready to," I confessed, remembering Sidney's warnings of taking it slowly and being ready to tell somebody when I _really _was. "I could not. I took comfort from those who were there with me and it helped until now. Now, it's gotten harder to conceal it."

"I'm happy you told me, then." Shannon smiled: a smile that I saw on Hawkeye Pierce's face many years before, in September of 1950. "I'm just so sorry."

"So am I, Sweetie…so am I." I looked to the doorway, listening to the innocent, careless laughter of the younger children as Peg played with them. Then, I stood up suddenly, hearing the two former Swampmen and Erin coming down the stairs, without voices, but sniffles. "Come on, let's go. Erin will need you, I think."

"And I need her." Shannon's statement seemed so final, so complete, that it made me realize how deep their friendship was, how _deep_ their relationship was. Like Hawkeye and B.J., they would be friends for the rest of their lives, sharing the deepest secrets of their lives, sharing the greatest moments and the most traumatic of their lives.

I watched my daughter go to Erin and watched them embrace, talking all at once all of a sudden. Hawkeye and B.J. had walked into another corner, to leave them – and me – alone, but it would never leave me alone. Everything was to walk hand-in-hand with me, for the rest of my days, and I could not stop it. For the moment, as I watched the news unravel, once more, about wars and destruction and more human lives wasted, I think back on the Korean War – for it should be called as such – and recount the lessons in my mind, learn by heart the countless days spent there, learning names, numbers, regulations, love…

I watched the foursome comfort each other as I dove back into my own mind, reminiscing about the same thing. Then, I see the outcomes it of – of personal and political strife, of my own pride, of life and death – and think about how, in the end, we would continue to learn of the mistakes, even if most people did not. We would always recall the days of Korea and stand proud, saying that we knew what it truly was about and how we learned it.

I walked out of the kitchen, calling to everybody behind me to come to the living room, to view the latest news and to watch those images. And, as we did, ever so quietly, the girls continued to play and talk to each other, as if nothing happened, but Hawkeye and B.J. stared at the black and white pictures of new, thinking just as I was.

It was yet another war to come, yes, but we could not fight it anymore. We were done. And this was _our_ peace.

* * *

**I have used a lot of information to keep the history and the series alive as I wrote this trilogy, keeping it in mind constantly. There are too many websites and books to mention, that have helped me, and I will post them accordingly if anybody wants to know where I got everything. With this in mind, I would like to thank all of the authors who gave me this information (many of them mentioned already) and the writers, creators, producers, etc. of "M*A*S*H", for, without it, we would not have this.**

**I also would like to thank, with the greatest gratitude and appreciation, SamandDianefan10 (Melinda) for her help, love, encouragement and reviews for this trilogy. Without her, I would have been in the dark and leaving this series on the drawing board of Microsoft Word forever. MANY THANKS!**

**And to all of you...thank you for reading this, if you actually did bother to. Please review, if you could, and tell me what you thought of it.**

**Finally, to all those who served in the Korean War (1950-1953 and onward): I thank you for your service for this country.**


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